THE 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



TO ACCOMPANY 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



BY 



JOHN P. McNICHOLS, S.J. 




NEW YORK 

SCHWAKTZ, KIR WIN & FAUSS 

1909 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 



The selections from Hawthorne, Holmes, Longfellow and 
Lafcadio Hearn are used by permission of, and special ar- 
rangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company, the authorized 
publishers of these authors. 

The selections from James Baldwin, Sydney Lanier, 
Howard Pyle, Ernest Thompson Seton, Frank R. Stockton, 
John C. Van Dyke, Frances Hodgson Burnett and Mary,,-,' 
Mapes Dodge are used by special arrangement with Charles \ 
Scribner's Sons. 

Acknowledgments are also made to D. Appleton & Com- 
pany, A. S. Barnes & Company, Dodd, Mead & Company, 
Doubleday, Page & Company, G. P. Putnam's Sons, Ameri- 
can Book Company, J. B. Lippincott Company and The 
Macmillan Company for permission to use selections from 
authors whose works they publish. 

The selections from the Century Magazine, Munsey's 
Magazine, McClure's Magazine, Collier's Weekly and the 
Literary Digest are inserted by permission of The Century 
Company, The Frank A. Munsey Company, S. S. McClure 
Company, P. F. Collier & Son and Funk & Wagnalls Com- 
pany. 



i 



fA> 



^ 



") 



Copyright, 1909 
By SCHWARTZ, KIRWIN & FAUSS 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

FEB 27 1809 

CLASS A~ XXc No, 

^3Vf 55 
COPY 8. 



Press of J. J. Little & Ives Co. 
New York 



PREFACE 



In presenting " Fundamental English/' and this its com- 
panion book, a full explanation is due the teacher. 

It may be fairly said that the ordinary means employed 
for teaching English in the higher grades of our Grammar 
Schools, and sometimes even in the lower grades of our 
Academies and High Schools, are analysis of sentences and 
reproduction of compositions. Now teachers who use these 
means show, I believe, an appreciation of what these classes 
ought to be doing. These classes ought to be acquiring the 
ability to construct a sentence, and they ought to be devel- 
oping some power of imagination. There is no doubt that 
analysis helps to the one, and that reproduction helps to the 
other, but the question is whether or not too much is not ex- 
pected of analysis, and whether or not reproduction is used 
properly. Let us see. 

For two or three years before the pupil enters the High 
School or Academy he is practised long and faithfully in the 
analysis of sentences. He frequently acquires a facility in 
this department of grammar that is simply amazing. Set a 
sentence before him, and he has it torn into its component 
parts almost before his eyes have scanned it. In drilling the 
pupil into this proficiency, the aim of the teacher has not 
been to make a grammarian of him, but to help him forward 
in composition. He has, nevertheless, been made a very 
respectable grammarian. Does he show as much ability in 
composition as two or three years of such work would seem 



iv PREFACE 

to warrant? Can he write an English sentence? Other 
teachers may have had experience different from what has 
been my experience and the experience of a very considerable 
number of teachers whom I have been able to consult; but, as 
far as I have been able to learn, all this analysis does not 
teach pupils how to write English sentences — at least it does 
not give pupils such perfection and facility in the composi- 
tion of a sentence as so much labor would seem to warrant 
us in expecting. The reason is not far to find, 

A man may wreck buildings all his life, and never become 
a bricklayer. When we want a house built, we do not go to 
a wrecker. We know that he has never learnt how. He 
knows the art of destruction, but he does not know the art 
of construction. When we want a sentence written, we 
should not go to one who knows only how to wreck sentences, 
but to one who has been taught how to construct sen- 
tences. If we expect pupils to be sentence-builders, we 
must teach them how to build — we must exercise them in 
sentence-building. 

Suggestions for exercises in sentence-building, and even 
whole exercises in it, are found in various books of grammar 
and rhetoric. The exercises we offer are not a great inven- 
tion. The only thing novel about them is that they are 
more numerous than any we have seen; in fact, numerous 
enough to supply any average class with work for two years. 
One virtue, we believe, they can claim — they are systematic. 

In offering them to teachers we do not wish to be consid- 
ered revolutionary. We do not wish teachers to imagine 
that we believe analysis of sentences should be wholly aban- 
doned. We believe as firmly as any teacher that pupils 
should be taught grammatical analysis, but we object to its 
becoming an end instead of remaining a means to an end. 
In order to assist the teacher in this matter of analysis we 
have prefaced our exercises in sentence-synthesis by a sec- 



PREFACE V 

tion containing lists of sentences for analysis, and we have 
further prefaced this section by a collection of such defini- 
tions and rules for analysis as we believe necessary and suf- 
ficient for pupils of the grades for which these exercises are 
intended. 

When we first planned the exercises in sentence-build- 
ing, it was not our intention to insert the definitions and 
rules, and the exercises in analysis. We were moved to 
insert the definitions and rules by the consideration that, 
since different grammarians use analytic terms in widely 
different meanings, we would facilitate matters for both 
teacher and pupils by telling just what we mean by our 
terms. The exercises in analysis were added at the sugges- 
tion of practical teachers, who find that the examples of the 
various kinds of sentences given in grammars do not seem to 
be sufficient to enable teachers to impress on pupils the na- 
ture of these various kinds of sentences. As a consequence 
teachers have to construct such examples for themselves, or 
to hunt them from book after book. We hope the collec- 
tion of sentences which we have made will save teachers 
the time and labor spent in hunting or constructing such 
examples. 

As thus proposed to the teacher and pupils, these three 
parts of "Fundamental English" are nothing more nor less 
than an application to these matters of the rules of the 
" Ratio Studiorum " of the Society of Jesus. Those rules in- 
sist that Jesuit professors teach languages by an orderly use 
of precepts, models, and practice. In the matter of sen- 
tences, this would mean that the professor must first explain 
to the class the principles of sentence structure; then show 
how these principles are applied in concrete examples; 
finally, exercise his pupils in the application of these laws to 
their own sentences. When, therefore, a Jesuit professor 
would be aiming at giving his class that power over a 



vi PREFACE 

sentence sought after by the process of analysis mentioned 
above, he would proceed somewhat after this fashion: he 
would first define a certain kind of sentence (Precepts) ; next 
he would propose to his pupils examples of this kind of sen- 
tence, pointing out to them, and having them point out, 
the application of the definition (Models); then he would 
demand of his pupils either that they compose original 
sentences of the kind analyzed, or that they combine vari- 
ous simple sentences into a sentence of the kind analyzed 
(Practice). It will be apparent to anyone who glances 
through the First, Second and Third Parts of " Fundamental 
English" that it is this method exactly which is followed 
out in those parts. 

Thus far, our apology for our attempt at sentence-build- 
ing. A word, now, on the matter of reproduction. 

Do we, as a rule, use reproduction properly? Do we get 
out of it all the imaginative training that it is able to offer? 
We believe we are fair in the following presentation of the 
case. 

When the teacher of the lower grades in question assigns 
his class a subject for reproduction, he reads to them a de- 
scription or narration, and tells them to write out the story 
or the description in their own words. How long a selection 
does the teacher read to the class? We think we are stating 
the ordinary occurrence, when we assert that the selection 
thus assigned usually contains at least fifteen hundred 
words. It is next to impossible for a teacher to find suitable 
selections that are shorter than this. The teacher can 
hardly expect and, except in the case of extraordinary pupils, 
hardly ever receives more than three hundred words from 
the pupils as their reproduction of all that has been read to 
them. Pupils in the grades in question easily remember 
about one-half of what is read to them, and they write about 
one-fifth of it. Now the effects of this sort of reproduction 



PREFACE vii 

are manifest. First and foremost, composition of this kind 
costs the pupils little or no effort. They simply dash off 
whatever comes to their mind of the passage which has been 
read to them. They never do any thinking while they are at 
the work of composition. It is hard to see, therefore, how 
work of this kind can in any sense be called original com- 
position, or how it prepares for original composition in any 
way. The fact of the matter is that work of this kind im- 
pedes rather than helps original composition. Keep a pupil 
at this sort of reproduction for two or three years, and you 
will find that the teacher who has to teach him the art of 
original composition must not only instruct him in a new 
learning, but must unteach him old habits which make the 
new learning almost impossible. The pupil trained in this 
false method of reproduction must be taught that composi- 
tion is not no work, and then, must be taught how to work; 
the pupil who has had absolutely no training in composition 
has this advantage over a pupil so trained — he has to be 
taught only how to work. 

This is the evil. The cure that has suggested itself is 
nothing original. It consists merely in harking back to the 
first and essential meaning of reproduction. Reproduction 
should not mean the rewriting of some part of a selection, 
but of the whole of it. This sort of reproduction cannot 
help but be beneficial. The reason is evident. 

If you demand from the pupils a composition as long as 
the selection read to them, they will have to do some thinking 
in writing their composition. Why? Well, they naturally 
forget a certain amount of what is read to them. To supply 
what they forget, they will have to cudgel their memory or 
their imagination. Just here is where they begin original 
composition. It is certainly a very modest beginning, but 
it is a beginning, and in the lower classes we have to make 
only a beginning. The principle involved is a very simple 



viii PREFACE 

one. For a pupil to write as much as is read to him of any 
selection he must jog his memory. Start a pupil jogging 
his memory, and you will almost of necessity force him into 
the exercise of his imagination. There is no need of going 
into a psychological explanation of this fact. We know by 
experience that it is true. 

There is an obstacle in the way of carrying out this idea of 
reproduction. In the lower grades a teacher can hardly 
expect from his class a composition of more than six hun- 
dred words, and selections as short as this are very hard 
to find. It is in answer to this difficulty that we have 
gathered together the two hundred selections found in 
this book. Almost all of the selections are of a length 
desirable for this sort of reproduction. In choosing them 
we have not, however, made length the only principle of 
selection. We have attempted to make a collection that, 
while varied by subjects of our own day and hour, will en- 
able pupils to become acquainted with much of what is 
classical in myth, legend, history, and literature. " Funda- 
mental English," Part Fourth, contains synopses of these 
selections, as well as lists of words to be used in the repro- 
duction of each of them. The reason for giving these syn- 
opses and word catalogues to the pupils we will try to 
explain here; the method of using them we will give more 
in detail later. 

We regard both the synopses and the word lists as stimu- 
lants to the imagination. When a pupil is given a synopsis, 
and told that out of every sentence in the synopsis he must 
construct a paragraph of composition, and that almost every 
word in the synoptic sentence is to be developed into a 
sentence in the composition, he will sit down to his work 
with a consciousness that a systematic effort is expected of 
him, and he will have some idea of how he will have to go 
about his work. The result will be a systematic attack on 



PREFACE IX 

his subject, insuring the active operation of the imagina- 
tion. To this same imaginative energy the compulsory use 
of the words contained in the word lists helps, for to intro- 
duce those words into his sentences the pupil will have to 
rack his inventive powers, and that means to exercise his 
imagination. 

From this lengthy plea for reproduction we do not wish 
anyone to conclude that we do not believe in any composi- 
tion work which would be more original. Some teachers 
look upon reproduction as the only method of composition 
that can be employed in lower classes; others think it 
should not be employed at all, and that pupils should be 
trained from the very beginning on nothing but strictly origi- 
nal work. Now the pedagogic truth in this discussion lies 
probably in the mean between these two extreme opinions. 
Pupils in the lower grades should have something of both; 
something of reproduction, and something of purely original 
work. No art teaches merely by reproduction; still, there 
is no school of painting or sculpture where the pupils do not 
have their share of what is merely reproduction. We be- 
lieve, therefore, that composition should be taught in our 
schools by both reproduction and original work. To this 
end the teacher will find at the end of this volume a short 
method or scheme for purely original composition which has 
been used with excellent results, and which we are free to 
praise unstintedly, because it is not our own. It has been 
written out under the direction, and from the notes, of a 
Jesuit Father, who has been unable to put it into form 
himself, and has permitted us to introduce it here. We 
recommend this method of original composition to the 
special consideration of the teacher. We believe it is 
largely a new idea, and we know that its use has been pro- 
ductive of the finest results. We think that original work, 
such as is suggested in this method, should in the lower 



x PREFACE 

classes be mingled with exercises of reproduction in order to 
get the best possible results in composition. 

Such, then, is our apology for and our explanation of the 
appearance of " Fundamental English/' and this its com- 
panion book. 

John P. McNichols, SJ. 

St. Xavier College, 
Cincinnati, Ohio, Sept. 8, 1908. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Suggestions to Teachers xiii 

Index of Selections ........ xvii 

Selections . ... . . ... . . 1 

Original Composition ....... 375 



SUGGESTIONS 

For the use of "Fundamental English" and the "Teachers 1 
Handbook. " 

" Fundamental English" should be in the hands of the 
pupils. The "Handbook" is for the teacher and for the 
teacher only. 

The two first parts of "Fundamental English" need no 
explanation further than that given in the Preface. With 
regard to the Third Part we would like to suggest the follow- 
ing: 

1) We would have teachers carry out zealously the idea 
expressed in the note appended to Exercise XXL 

2) We would advise that, before the class is set at work 
combining separate simple sentences into one sentence, 
simple, complex or compound, the teacher make sure that 
each pupil in the class understands fully the meaning of 
each simple sentence. To this end it will be useful to assign 
to-day as a regular class lesson the reading and understand- 
ing of the exercise or part of an exercise which will be 
assigned to-morrow as a theme in sentence structure. Thus, 
if a teacher intends on Tuesday to assign Exercise XXI as a 
theme in sentence structure, he should on Monday tell the 
class to read over the exercise on Monday night, making 
sure to understand the full meaning of each separate sen- 
tence. He should insist that where their ignorance of the 
meaning of the words is the bar to their understanding of 
the sense, they should look up the words in their diction- 
aries. 

3) How often these exercises in sentence-building should 
be given, the teacher will ultimately have to settle for him- 
self. It has been found useful by some teachers to assign 
some work in sentence-structure, as an English theme, on 
all days when the class is doing no other work in English 
composition. 



xiv SUGGESTIONS 

With regard to the Fourth Part of " Fundamental Eng- 
lish/ ' and the corresponding selections (Part First) in the 
"Handbook," we would like to give the following explana- 
tions: 

1) The marking (C) in a synopsis indicates that that 
paragraph is conversational. Sometimes several sentences 
of conversation are expressed in the synopsis as one para- 
graph. When this occurs, these sentences are joined to- 
gether in the selection by a bracket, and the letter attached 
to that bracket has a corresponding letter in the synopsis. 
In like manner we have sometimes in the selection joined 
a sentence of conversation to a narrative or descriptive 
paragraph, indicating the union in the selection by a 
bracket, and expressing the synopsis of the whole bracket 
by one sentence. This method of handling the conversation 
which enters into the selections may not approve itself to 
all, but we believe that it is as simple an arrangement as 
could be devised. It only leaves to the teacher to indi- 
cate to the class how many sentences enter into each (C) 
paragraph. 

2) The lists of words found in the synopsis have been 
chosen not merely in order to increase the vocabulary of the 
pupils, but also, in many cases, in order to jog their memo- 
ries. Proper names occurring in the selections will be 
found either in the synoptic sentence or in the word lists of 
the synopsis. The words in the word lists are numbered 
for the convenience of the teacher. If a teacher had to go 
over a collection of forty or fifty papers once or twice a 
week, and besides attending to ordinary corrections, had 
to make sure that certain words were used by each pupil, 
his task would be well nigh impossible. The teacher can 
save himself much if not all of this work. Let him have 
the pupils underline in their composition the words from 
the word lists, and even number them in the composition 



SUGGESTIONS xv 

as they are numbered in the word list. When the com- 
positions are brought to class, let them be interchanged 
among the pupils, and while the teacher reads the word 
lists, paragraph by paragraph, let him have the class indi- 
cate in the margin of the papers the omission of any of the 
words given in the word lists. 

3) In giving the class an exercise in reproduction the fol- 
lowing method will prove useful: 

a) On the day before assigning a selection for reproduc- 
tion, tell the class to read over the synopsis of that selection, 
and to make sure to understand the meaning of the topic 
sentences, and of the words in the word lists. 

b) On the day when the reproduction is assigned, examine 
the class in order to ascertain whether or not they do under- 
stand the sentences of the synopsis and the words in the 
word lists. 

c) Read through the whole selection slowly. 

d) Next read through the selection, paragraph by para- 
graph. Pause frequently, and indicate how the sentences 
in the paragraph are expansions of a word or of words in 
the topic sentence of the synopsis. Show how the words 
of the word lists are used. 

e) Read through the whole selection continuously for a 
second time. 

f) Have the composition written, and as soon as it is 
handed in, have it examined in class, as indicated above, 
to see whether or not the pupils have used the words as 
demanded. (In his further correction the teacher wdll be 
governed by his own ideas and the needs of his pupils.) 

N. B. — This method of assigning a reproduction will 

It has been suggested that teachers might profitably demand in 
each reproduction examples of sentences of the various forms being 
studied in Part III (Fundamental English), at the time when the re- 
production is given. 



xvi SUGGESTIONS 



prove slow at first, but as soon as the pupils catch the idea 
of the work, some of the steps here mentioned may be 
omitted, or if not omitted, at least passed over very 
quickly. If the class which is being introduced to this kind 
of work is especially weak in composition, it may be well to 
write the first compositions together in class in order that 
the pupils may see more clearly how they are to go about 
the work for themselves. 

The exercises given in the Second Part of the "Teachers' 
Handbook" explain themselves. We would only remark 
that we think it would be advisable not to begin reproduc- 
tion, as explained above, and these exercises in original 
work at the same time. They are two different methods 
of composition work, and young pupils will be spared much 
confusion of ideas, if they are allowed to get a good grasp 
of one method before they are expected to start work in the 
other. In choosing which method to teach first, teachers 
may follow their own bent. Personally we think that the 
method of reproduction should be taught first. When this 
is learnt, regular weekly or semi-weekly exercises in it may 
be assigned, and thus no composition time lost, while the 
method of original work is being drilled into the pupils 
during class hours. 

Finally let us remark that we appreciate to the full the 
fact that very few classes, if any, will even in two years com- 
plete all the work in these two volumes. We ourselves did 
not intend that any one class should, but it has always 
seemed to us to be a defect in text-books that they are not 
copious enough to suffice for any class and to satisfy any 
teacher. To give to the teacher a book which will save him 
hours of searching after materials in his library is the desire 
which has prompted us to this fullness. May our good in- 
tention win pardon for our shortcomings. 

The Author. 






INDEX OF SELECTIONS 



Abbot — King John and the, 191 
Adam— A Son of, 201 
Adventure of Tillerman McDer- 

mott, The, 244 
Agobio— The Wolf of, 53 
Albertus Magnus, 76 
Ambrose — Theodosius and, 73 
Andromache — Hector and, 353 
Antony and the Fishes — St., 55 
Aoyagi— The Story of, 102 
Arthur and the Sable Knight — 

King, 289 
Arthur— The Passing of, 284 
Autobiography — An, 164 
Autumn Sunset — An, 171 

Battle on Stilts— A, 295 

Baucis and Philemon, 1 

Bear Has No Tail— Why the, 107 

Bell of Justice— The, 145 

Bells of Feldkirch— The Easter, 

143 
Beth Gellert, 216 
Bill Sikes— The Death of, 338 
Binns — The Heroism of John, 214 
Birds — St. Francis and the, 51 
Blacksmith at Brandywine — The, 

179 
Bride— A Goddess, 251 
Broken Promise — The, 33 
Bull — Ursus and the, 130 
Bumping Race — A, 141 
Burial of the Conqueror — The, 113 
Burning of Newgate — The, 336 

Cakes — Burnt, 111 
Cakes— The Three, 220 
California — Finding Gold in, 235 
Cashier— The, 305 
Cat— The Value of a, 49 
Catherine — Legend of St., 64 
Cedric the Saxon, 314 
Cedric the Saxon— The Hall of, 312 



Century Plant Got Its Name — 

How the, 236 
Chaining the South Wind, 274 
Chariot Race— The, 341 
Charity — A Royal, 78 
Charter was Saved — How the, 166 
Charybdis, 346 

Chimney Sweepers' Feast, 230 
Christian Soldier — A, 82 
Christopher St., 62 
City— The Sunken, 182 
Clearing a Mystery, 223 
Cloak of St. Martin— The, 67 
Cloud— The, 318 
Coliseum- — Last Fight in the, 124 
Conqueror — The Burial of the, 113 
Constantine — St. Sylvester and, 66 
Convict by Choice — -A, 128 
Corn-Engrosser — Robin Hood and 

the, 177 
Costly Gifts, 15 
Cowards— The Two, 173 
Critics Silenced— The, 204 
Culprit Fay— The, 321 
Cunning — The Fate of, 17 

David and Goliath, 307 

Dead Wife— The, 34 

Deaf as a Post, 193 

Dear as Salt — As, 18 

Death Dice— The, 196 

Death of the Sun-Hero— The, 40 

Death of Mary Stuart, 298 

Death of Roland— The, 276 

Death of Sporus the Gladiator — 

The, 208 
Death of Bill Sikes— The, 338 
Death — Into the Jaws of, 184 
Decision — A Curious, 197 
Delphi— The Greek Story of, 249 
Demoniac— The, 300 
Dervise and the Four Robbers — 

The, 222 



XV111 



INDEX OF SELECTIONS 



Devil and the Rooster — The, 217 
Don Quixote and the Windmills, 

362 
Doodle— Yankee, 123 
Dragon of the North— The, 23 
Dragon's Teeth— The, 6 
Dragon — St. George and the, 60 
Dragoon — The Phantom, 180 
Dream-Gift — Juanito's, 150 
Duel by Frenchman — A, 232 
Dwarf's Gift— The, 152 

"Easy Mark"— The, 239 

Easter Bells of Feldkirch— The, 

143 
Erisichthon, 11 
Excalibur, 292 
Execution — A Highland, 343 

Face — Picture of a Phantom's, 227 

Faithful— Pierrot the, 202 

Falls — The Legend of Horseshoe, 

106 
Farm— The Hall, 308 
Fate of Cunning— The, 17 
Fay— The Culprit, 321 
Fearsome Sights in a Storm, 238 
Feast — Chimney Sweepers', 230 
Feldkirch— The Easter Bells of, 

143 
Festival of the Guillotine — The, 

159 
Fight in the Coliseum — The Last, 

124 
Fight of the Gladiators— The, 132 
Fishes — St. Antony and the, 55 
Fire— On the Way to the, 146 
Flesh--The Pound of, 370 
Flying Machine — An Ancient, 10 
Francis and the Birds — St., 51 
"Freckles" McGraw, 246 
Frenchmen — A Duel by, 232 
Frost— A Story of King, 38 

Galahad and the Grail— Sir, 282 

" Gang "—The Tribute of "de," 242 

Gellert— Beth, 216 

George and the Dragon — St., 60 

Gifts— Costly, 15 

Gift— The Dwarf's, 152 

Gladiators— The Fight of the, 132 



Glass Mountain — The, 31 
Goddess Bride— A, 251 
Goat— The Heart of a, 148 
Gold in California— Finding, 235 
Golden Hair, 265 
Goliath — David and, 307 
Grail— The Quest of the, 278 
Gratitude, 27 
Guillotine — The Festival of the, 

159 
Gulliver is Carried to Lilliput, 331 

Hall of Cedric the Saxon— The, 312 
Hall Farm— The, 308 
Hannaford — Jack, 209 
Hapsburg — Sir Rodolph of, 57 
Head— The Terrible, 47 
Heart of a Goat— The, 148 
Heaven — The Music of, 58 
Heaven — For a Letter to, 187 
Hector and Andromache, 353 
Heir?— Which was the, 213 
Hero — An Unwilling, 255 
Heroism of John Binns — The, 214 
Highland Execution — A, 343 
Hog — A Strange, 118 
Horn— Roland's, 272 
Horse— The Wooden, 257 
House— A Typee, 350 
Houses— The Witchery of Old 
Time, 206 

Ice — The Pickwickians on the, 16& 
Ice Broke— When the, 139 
Impious — The Punishment of the 
360 

Jaws of Death— Into the, 184 

Jiu-Roku-Zakura, 99 

John and the Abbot — King, 191 

Joke— A Warm, 228 

Jorinde and Joringel, 20 

Juanito's Dream-Gift, 150 

Justice— The Bell of, 145 

Kindness — A Little, 29 
King — The Proving of a, 287 
Knight of the Swan— The, 268 
Knight — King Arthur and the 

Sable, 289 
Knowledge — The Love of, 109 



INDEX OF SELECTIONS 



xix 



Land of Souls — In the, 36 
Lear, 315 

Legend of Bomere Pool— The, 297 
Legend of Horseshoe Falls — The, 

106 
Legend of St. Catherine — The, 64 
Legend of St. Ogg— The, 75 
Legend of Tell— The, 115 
Legion— The Theban, 68 
Letter to Heaven — For a, 187 
Lilliput — Gulliver is Carried to, 

331 
Literary Poachers, 367 
Little Kindness — A, 29 
Locusts — The Plague of, 302 
Love of Knowledge — The, 109 

Machine — An Ancient Flying, 10 
Mare Winnie — John Ridd on the 

Strawberry, 233 
Maiden — A Warrior, 263 
Mark, How St. — Saved Venice, 70 
Martin— The Cloak of St., 67 
Martyr— The Boy, 80 
Mary Stuart— The Death of, 298 
Men — Wooden, 121 
Midas, 3 

Minotaur— The, 365 
Mirza— The Vision of, 327 
Mischievous Wind — The, 225 
Moll White, 347 
Mother's Prayer — A, 117 
Mountain — The Glass, 31 
Mouse — The Country — and the 

City Mouse, 364 
Mujina, 93 

Music — The Power of, 13 
Music of Heaven — The, 58 
Mystery — Clearing a, 223 

Newgate— The Burning of, 336 
Night-storm— The, 219 
North— The Dragon of the, 23 
Nose — The Story of a Long, 42 

October, 345 

October Sunrise — An, 199 

Ogg— Legend of St., 75 

Origin of Roast Pig— The, 154 

Oshidori, 87 

Otei— Story of, 88 



Panther — A Ride with a, 161 
Paradise and the Peri, 324 
Passing of Arthur— The, 284 
Passing of the Veteran — The, 137 
Peddler of Swaffham— The, 211 
Phantom Dragoon — The, 180 
Philemon — Baucis and, 1 
Pickwickians on the Ice — The, 

168 
Pierrot— The Faithful, 202 
Picture of a Phantom's Face, 227 
Pig— The Origin of Roast, 154 
Plague of the Locusts— The, 302 
Poacher — The Weather Vane and 

the, 195 
Pompeii, 249 

Pool— The Legend of Bomere, 297 
Post — Deaf as a, 193 
Pound of Flesh— The, 370 
Power of Music— The, 13 
Prayer — A Mother's, 117 
Prayer of the Queen — At the, 126 
Preacher— The Village, 243 
Prescriptions — Trying Old, 200 
Prodigal Son— The, 317 
Prometheus, 253 
Promise — The Broken, 33 
Prospect— A, 352 
Proserpine, 4 

Proving of a King— The, 287 
Punishment of the Impious — The 

360 

Queen — At the Prayer of the, 126 
Quest of the Grail— The, 278 
"Quo Vadis, Domine?"85 

Race — A Bumping, 141 

Race— The Chariot, 341 

Ridd on the Strawberry Mare, Win- 
nie—John, 233 

Ride— Mr. Winkle's, 157 

Ride with a Panther — A, 161 

Riki-Baka, 100 

Robbers — The Dervise and the 
Four— 222 

Robin Hood and the Corn-Engros- 
ser, 177 

Robinson Crusoe Discovers the 
Footprint, 332 

Rodolph of Hapsburg — Sir, 57 



XX 



INDEX OF SELECTIONS 



Roland— The Death of, 276 
Roland's Horn, 272 
Rooster — The Devil and the, 217 
Rumpelstiltskin, 44 

Salt — As Dear as, 18 

Salt— Why the Sea is, 46 

Santiago, 72 

Saxon — Cedric the, 314 

Saxon — The Hall of Cedric the, 

312 
Saved — How the Charter was, 166 
Sea — Storm at, 334 
Sejan Steed— The, 134 
Serpent — The Seven-Headed, 26 
Silenced— The Critics, 204 
Sin-Stained, 280 
Sleepers— The Three, 198 
Snowstorm — The, 356 
Soldier— A Christian, 82 
Son— The Prodigal, 317 
Son of Adam— A, 201 
Son of the Sun— The, 357 
Souls — In the Land of, 36 
South Wind— Chaining the, 274 
Spider— The Story of the, 8 
Spindle, Shuttle and Needle, 21 
Sporus the Gladiator — The Death 

of, 208 
Spring— The Story of, 261 
Stag— The White, 270 
Stilts— A Battle on, 295 
Storm— The, 329 

Storm — Fearsome Sights in a, 238 
Storm at Sea, 334 
Story of Aoyagi— The, 102 
Story of Delphi— The Greek, 249 
Story of King Frost, 38 
Story of a Long Nose— The, 42 
Story of Otei, 88 
Story of the Spider— The, 8 
Story of Spring— The, 261 
Story of the Volcano— The, 266 
Sun-Hero— The Death of the, 40 
Sunken City— The, 182 
Sunrise — An October, 199 
Sunset — An Autumn, 171 
Swaffham— The Peddler of, 211 
Swan— The Knight of the, 268 
Sword— A Wonderful, 259 
Sylvester and Const antine— St., 66 



Tell— The Legend of, 115 
Terrible Head— The, 47 
Terror— A Tale of, 224 
Teeth— The Dragon's, 6 
Theban Legion— The, 68 
Theodosius and Ambrose, 73 
Three Sleepers— The, 198 
Three Wishes— The, 189 
Tipp— John, 339 
Tournament— The, 310 
Tribute of "de Gang"— The, 242 
Trying Old Prescriptions, 200 
Typee House— A, 350 

Ubzakura, 91 

Unwilling Hero — An, 255 

Ursus and the Bull, 130 

Value of a Cat— The, 49 

Venice — How St. Mark Saved, 

70 
Veteran — The Passing of the, 137 
Village Preacher— The, 243 
Vision of Mirza— The, 327 
Volcano— The Story of the, 266 

Warm Joke— A, 328 
Warrior Maiden — A, 263 
Way to the Fire— On the, 146 
Weather Vane and the Poacher — 

The, 195 
Were-Wolf— The, 112 
Which Was the Heir ? 213 
White— Moll, 347 
White Stag— The, 270 
Wife— The Dead, 34 
Wind — The Mischievous, 225 
Windmills — Don Quixote and the, 

362 
Winkle's Ride— Mr., 157 
Wishes— The Three, 189 
Witchery of Old Time Houses — 

The, 206 
Wolf of Agobio— The, 53 
Women of Weinsberg — The, 129 
Wonderful Sword— A, 259 
Wooden Men, 121 
Wooden Horse— The, 257 

Yankee Doodle, 123 
Yuki-Onna, 95 



SELECTIONS 



1.— BAUCIS AND PHILEMON 

Once upon a time Jupiter and Mercury visited Phrygia. 
They presented themselves at many a door as weary trav- 
elers seeking rest and shelter, but found all closed; for it 
was late and the inhospitable inhabitants would not rouse 
themselves to open for their reception. At last a humble 
mansion received them, a small thatched cottage, where 
Baucis, a, pious old dame, and her husband, Philemon, had 
grown old together. 

When the two heavenly guests crossed the threshold, and 
bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the old man 
placed a seat on which Baucis, bustling and attentive, 
spread a cloth and begged them to sit down. Then she 
raked out the coals from the ashes, and kindled a fire, fed it 
with leaves and dry bark, and with her scanty breath, blew 
it into a flame. She brought out of the corner split sticks 
and dry branches, broke them up, and placed them under 
the kettle. Her husband collected some pot-herbs from 
the little garden, and she shred them from the stalks, and 
prepared them for the pot. Thus with simple fare they en- 
tertained their guests, giving not the best but the best that 
they had. 

Now, while the repast proceeded, the old folks were 
astonished to see that the wine, as fast as it was poured out, 
replenished itself in the pitcher, of its own accord. Struck 
with terror, Baucis and Philemon recognized their heavenly 
guests, fell on their knees, and with clasped hands implored 



,. 



f 



2 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

forgiveness for their poor entertainment. There was an 
old goose, which they kept as the guardian of their humble 
cottage, and they bethought them to make this a sacrifice 
in honor of their guests, but Jupiter and Mercury would not 
permit it. 

"We are gods," they said. "This inhospitable country 
shall pay the penalty of its impiety. You alone shall go 
free from punishment. Quit your house, and come with us 
.to the top of yonder hill." 

They hastened to obey, and staff in hand labored up the 
steep ascent. They had reached to within a stone's throw 
of the top, when, turning their eyes below, they beheld all 
the country sunk in a lake, only their own house left stand- 
ing. While they gazed with wonder at the sight, and 
lamented the fate of their neighbors, that old house of 
theirs was changed into a temple. Columns took the place 
of the corner posts, the thatch grew yellow and appeared a 
gilded roof, the floors became marble, the doors were en- 
riched with carving and ornaments of gold. Then Jupiter 
spoke in benignant accents: 

"Excellent old man, and woman, worthy of such a hus- 
band, speak, tell us your wishes, what favor have you to 
ask of us?" 

Philemon took counsel with Baucis for a few moments; 
then declared to the gods their united wish. 

" We ask to be priests and guardians of your temple; and 
since we have passed our lives here in peace and content- 
ment, we wish that one and the same hour may take us 
both from life, that I may not live to see her grave, nor be 
.laid in my own by her." 

Their prayer was granted. They were the keepers of the 

temple as long as they lived. When grown very old, as 

they stood one day before the steps of the sacred edifice, 

. and were telling the story of the place, Baucis saw Philemon 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 3 

" begin to put forth leaves, and old Philemon saw Baucis 
changing in like manner. Soon a leafy crown had grown 
over their heads, while they exchanged parting words, as 
long as they could speak. 

" Farewell, dear spouse/ ' they said together, and at the 
same moment the bark closed over their mouths. . The 
shepherds of that country still show the trees, standing side 
. by side, made out of these two people. 

— " Age of Fable/ ' by Thomas Bulfinch. 

2.— MIDAS 

Bacchus, on a certain occasion, found his old master and 
foster-father, Silenus, missing. The old man had been 
drinking, and in that state had wandered away, and been 
found by some peasants, who carried him to their king, 
Midas. Midas recognized him, and treated him hospitably, 
entertaining him for ten days and nights with an unceasing 
round of jollity. On the eleventh day he brought Silenus 
back, and restored him in safety to his pupil. Whereupon 
Bacchus offered Midas his choice of a reward, whatever he 
might wish. He asked that whatever he might touch 
should be changed into gold. Bacchus consented though 
sorry that he had not made a better choice. 

Midas went his way, rejoicing in his new-acquired power, 
which he hastened to put to the test. He could scarce be- 
lieve his eyes, when he found a twig of an oak, which he had 
plucked from the branch, become gold in his hand. He 
took up a stone; it changed to gold. He touched a sod; 
it did the same. He took an apple from the tree; you 
would have thought that he had robbed the garden of the 
Hesperides. His joy knew no bounds, and, as soon as he 
got home, he ordered his servants to set a splendid repast 
on the table. Then he found to his dismay that, whenever 
he touched bread, it hardened in his hand; or, whenever he 



4 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

put a morsel in his mouth, it defied his teeth. He took a 
glass of wine, but it flowed down his throat like melted gold. 

In consternation at the unprecedented affliction, he 
strove to divest himself of his power; he hated the gift he 
had lately coveted. But all in vain. Starvation seemed 
to await him. He raised his arms, all shining with gold, in 
prayer to Bacchus, begging to be delivered from his glit- 
tering destruction. Bacchus, merciful deity, heard and 
consented. 

"Go," said he, "to the river Pactolus, trace the stream 
to its fountain-head, there plunge your head and body in, 
. and wash away your fault and its punishment." 

He did so, and scarce had he touched the waters before 
the gold-creating power passed into them, and the river 
sands changed into gold as they remain to this day. 

— " Age of Fable, " by Thomas Bulfinch. 

3.— PROSERPINE 

In the vale of Enna there is a lake embowered in woods, 
which screen it from the fervid rays of the sun, while the 
moist earth is covered with flowers and Spring reigns 
perpetual. Here Proserpine, the daughter of Ceres, god- 
dess of the harvest, was playing with her companions, gath- 
ering lilies and violets, and filling her basket and apron w 7 ith 
them, when Pluto, the ruler of Tartarus, saw her, loved her, 
and carried her off to be the queen of his dark domains. She 
screamed for help to her mother and her companions, but 
her mother did not hear her, and her companions could not 
help her. Pluto urged on his steeds, calling them each by 
name, and throwing loose over their heads and necks his 
iron-colored reins. When he reached the river Cyane, and it 
opposed his passage, he struck the river bank with his trident, 
and the earth opened, and gave him a passage to Tartarus. 

Ceres sought her daughter all the world over. Bright- 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 5 

^haired Aurora, when she came forth in the morning, and 
Hesperus, when he led out the stars in the evening, found 
her still busy in the search. From land to land and across 
rivers and seas, she went till at length she returned to Sicily, 
whence she at first set out, and stood by the banks of the 
river Cyane, where Pluto made himself a passage with his 
prize to his own kingdom. The river nymph would have 
told Ceres all she had witnessed, but dared not, for fear of 
Pluto; so she only ventured to take up the girdle which 
Proserpine had dropped in her flight, and waft it to the feet 
of the mother. Ceres, seeing this, was no longer in doubt 
of her loss, but did not yet know the cause, and laid the 
blame on the innocent land. 

" Ungrateful soil," said she, " which I have endowed with 
fertility, and clothed with herbage and nourishing grain, no 
.more shall you enjoy my favors." 

Then the cattle died; the plough broke in the furrow; 
the seed failed to come up; there was too much sun; there 
was too much rain; the birds stole the seeds; — thistles and 
brambles were the only growth. Seeing this, the fountain, 
Arethusa, interceded for the land: 

" Goddess," said she, "blame not the land; it opened 
unwillingly to yield a passage to your daughter. I can tell 
you of her fate for I have seen her." 

The fountain told Ceres how in her own passage under- 
ground between Greece and Sicily — for this fountain disap- 
peared from sight in Greece and did not show herself again 
until she came out into the sunlight in Sicily — she had seen 
Proserpine in Tartarus, reigning over those regions as the 
powerful bride of the monarch of the realms of the dead. 

When Ceres heard this, she stood for a while like one 
stupified; then turned her chariot towards heaven, and 
hastened to present herself before the throne of Jove. She 
told the story of her bereavement, and implored Jupiter to 



6 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

interfere to procure the restitution of her daughter. Jupi- 
ter consented on one condition, namely, that Proserpine 
should not during her stay in the lower world have taken 
any food; otherwise the Fates forbade her release. Ac- 
cordingly Mercury was sent, accompanied by Spring, to 
demand Proserpine of Pluto. The wily monarch con- 
sented; but alas! Proserpine had taken a pomegranate 
which Pluto had offered her, and had sucked the sweet 
pulp from a few of the seeds. This was enough to prevent 
her complete release; but a compromise was made, by 
which she was to pass half the time with her mother and the 
rest with her husband, Pluto. 

— " Age of Fable," by Thomas Bulfinch. 

4.— THE DRAGON'S TEETH 

While Cadmus was seeking his sister who had been stolen 
from her home, he came one day to the country called 
Panope. Wishing to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he sent his 
servants to seek pure water for a libation. Near by there 
stood an ancient grove, which had never been profaned by 
an axe, in the midst of which was a cave, thick-covered 
with the growth of bushes, its roof forming a low arch from 
beneath which burst forth a fountain of purest water. In 
the cave lurked a horrid serpent with a crested head and 
scales glittering like gold. His eye shone like fire, his body 
was swollen with venom, he vibrated a triple tongue, and 
showed a triple row of teeth. The serpent was roused by 
the servants of Cadmus, and at the sight of him they were 
so filled with terror that he was able to slay all of them 
before they could make good their escape. 

Cadmus, after waiting some time for the return of. his 
men, went in search of them. When he entered the wood, 
and saw the lifeless bodies and the monster with its bloody 
Jaws ; he exclaimed; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 7 

b f " Faithful friends, I will avenge you or share your 

I death." 
c So saying he lifted a huge stone, and threw it with all his 
force at the serpent. Such a block would have shaken the 
wall of a fortress, but it made no impression on the serpent. 
Cadmus next threw his javelin, which met with better suc- 
cess, for it penetrated the monster's scales, and pierced to 
its entrails. Fierce with pain the monster turned back its 
head to view the wound, and attempted to draw out the 
weapon with its mouth, but broke it off, leaving the iron 
rankling in its flesh. His neck swelled with rage, bloody 
foam covered his jaws, and the breath of his nostrils pois- 
oned the air around. He moved after Cadmus who re- 
treated, holding his spear opposite to the monster's open 
jaws. Cadmus was watching his chance, and, at a moment 
when the monster's head was thrown back against the 
trunk of a tree, he thrust the spear, and succeeded in pin- 
ning the animal to the side of the tree. 

While Cadmus stood over his conquered foe, he heard a 
voice commanding him to take the dragon's teeth and sow 
them in the earth. He obeyed. Scarce had he done so, 
when the clods began to move, and the points of spears to 
appear above the surface. Next helmets with their nod- 
ding plumes came up, and next the shoulders and breasts 
and limbs of men with weapons and in time a harvest of 
armed warriors. Cadmus, alarmed, prepared to meet a 
new enemy, but one of them said: 

" Meddle not with our civil war." 

With that he, who had spoken, smote one of his earth- 
born brothers with a sword, and he himself fell pierced with 
an arrow by another. The latter fell victim to a fourth, 
and in like manner the whole crowd dealt with each other 
till all fell slain with mutual wounds except five survivors. 
* One of these cast away his weapons and said: 



8 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



e f " Brothers, let us live in peace. " 
j These five joined with Cadmus in building a city, great 
L afterwards in Grecian history, which they called Thebes. 
— " Age of Fable/' by Thomas Bulfmch. 



5.— THE STORY OF THE SPIDER 

In olden times there was a mortal maiden, Arachne, who 
had attained such skill in the arts of weaving and embroid- 
ery that the nymphs would leave their groves and fountains 
to come and gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful 
when it was done, but also beautiful in the doing. To 
watch Arachne, as she took the wool in its rude state, and 
formed it into balls, or separated.it with her fingers, and 
carded it until it was as soft and light as a cloud, or as she 
twirled the spindle with skillful touch, or wove the web, or, 
after it was woven, adorned it with her needle, one would 
have said that Minerva herself had taught her. But this 
she in her vanity denied, and could not bear to be thought 
the pupil even of a goddess. 

"Let Minerva try her skill with mine," said she. "If 
I beaten, I will pay the penalty." 

Minerva heard this, and was displeased. She assumed 
the form of an old woman, and went, and gave Arachne 
some friendly advice. 

"I have had much experience," said she, "and I hope you 
will not despise my counsel. Challenge your fellow mortals 
as you will, but do not compete with a goddess. On the 
contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you 
have said, and, as she is merciful, perhaps she will pardon 
you." 

Arachne stopped her spinning, and looked at the old dame 
with anger in her countenance. 

"Keep your counsel," said she, "for your daughters and 
handmaids; for my part, I know what I say, and I stand to 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 9 

it. I am not afraid of the goddess; let her try her skill, if she 
dare venture." 

"She comes/' said Minerva; and, dropping her disguise, 
stood confessed. 

Arachne was unterrified even by the presence of the god- 
dess. She blushed indeed, but stood her ground. With a 
foolish conceit of her own skill, she rushed on her fate. 
Minerva forbore no longer, nor interposed any more advice. 
They proceeded to the contest. Each took her station, and 
attached the web to the beam. Then the slender shuttle 
was passed in and out among the threads. The reed with 
its fine teeth struck up the woof into its place, and com- 
pacted the web. Both worked with speed; their skillful 
hands moved rapidly, and the excitement of the contest 
made the labor light. Minerva wrought on her web the 
scenes of contests between the gods and men, intending to 
teach the presumptuous Arachne the danger of competing 
with a god. Arachne answered back by filling her web with 
pictures chosen to display the weaknesses of the gods. 

Minerva could not forbear to admire the work of Arachne, 
but was indignant at her vanity and impiety. She struck 
the web with her shuttle, and rent it in pieces; she then 
touched the forehead of Arachne, and made her feel her 
guilt and shame. She could not endure it, and went, and 
hanged herself. Minerva pitied her as she saw her sus- 
pended by a rope. 

"Live," she said, "guilty woman, and, that you may pre- 
serve the lesson of your sin, continue to hang, both you 
. and your descendants, to all future times." 

She sprinkled her with the juices of aconite, and immedi- 
ately her hair came off, and her ears and nose likewise. Her 
form shrank up, and her head grew smaller yet; her fingers 
cleaved to her side, and served for legs. All the rest of her 
was body, out of which she spun her thread, often hanging 



10 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



suspended by it, in the same attitude as when Minerva 
touched her, and changed her into a spider. 

— " Age of Fable," by Thomas Bulfinch. 



6.— AN ANCIENT FLYING MACHINE 

Daedalus was a great architect in ancient times. He 
built the labyrinth for King Minos, but afterwards lost the 
favor of the king, and was shut up in a tower on an island. 
He contrived to make his escape from his prison-tower, but 
could not leave the island on which the tower stood, as the 
king kept strict watch on all the vessels, and permitted none 
to sail from the island without being searched. 

"King Minos may control the land and sea/' said Daeda- 
. lus, "but not the regions of the air. I will try that way." 

So he set to work to fabricate wings for himself and his 
young son, Icarus. He wrought feathers together, begin- 
ning with the smallest and adding larger so as to form an in- 
creasing surface. The larger ones he secured with thread, 
and the smaller with wax, and he gave the whole a gentle 
curvature like the wings of a bird. Icarus, the boy, stood, 
and looked on, sometimes running to gather up the feathers 
which the wind had blown away, and oftener handling the 
wax and working it over with his fingers so as to help his 
father in his work. 

When at last his labors were concluded, the artist, waving 
his wings, found himself buoyed upward, and hung sus- 
pended, poising himself on the beaten air. He next equip- 
ped his son in the same way, and taught him how to fly, as 
a bird tempts her young ones from the lofty nest into the air. 
When all was prepared for flight, he said : 

"Icarus, my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate 
height, for if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, 
. and, if too high, the heat will melt them." 

While he gave these instructions, and fitted the wings to 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 11 

the shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and 
his hands trembled. He kissed the boy, not knowing that 
it was for the last time. Then rising on his wings, he flew 
off, encouraging his son to follow, and looked back from 
his own flight to see how he managed his wings. As they 
flew, the plowman stopped his work to gaze, and the shep- 
herd leaned on his staff, and watched them, astonished at 
the sight, and thinking they were gods who could thus cleave 
the air. 

They passed Samos and Delos on the left, and Lebynthos 
on the right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to 
leave the guidance of his father and soar upward as if to 
reach heaven. The nearness of the blazing sun softened 
the wax which held the feathers together, and they came 
off. He fluttered with his arms, but no feathers remained 
to hold the air. While he cried out to his father for help, 
he sank in the waters of the sea which thenceforth was 
called by his name. When his father noticed that he had 
disappeared, he cried out wildly: 

" Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" 

At last he saw the feathers floating on the water, and, 
bitterly lamenting his own arts, began a weary search for 
the body. When he had found it, he buried it in the land 
which, from being the grave of Icarus, was afterward called 
Icaria. Daedalus himself arrived safe in Sicily, where he 
built a temple to Apollo, and hung up his wings, an offering 
to the god. 

— " Age of Fable," by Thomas Bulfinch. 

7.— ERISICHTHON 

Erisichthon was a despiser of the gods. On one occasion 

he presumed to violate with the axe a grove sacred to 

Ceres. There stood in this grove a venerable oak, so large 

I that it seemed a wood in itself, its ancient trunk towering 



12 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

" aloft, whereon votive garlands were often hung, and inscrip- 
tions carved, expressing the gratitude of suppliants to the 
nymph of the tree. Often had the Dryads danced round it 
hand in hand. Its trunk measured fifteen cubits round, 
and it overtopped the other trees as they overtopped the 
shrubbery. But for all that, Erisichthon saw no reason 
why he should spare it, and he ordered his servants to cut it 
down. When they seemed to hesitate, he snatched an axe 
from one, and lifted it to strike. The oak seemed to shudder 
and to utter a groan. When the first blow fell upon the 
trunk, blood flowed from the wound. All the bystanders 
were horror-struck, and one of them ventured to remonstrate 
and to hold back the fatal axe. Erisichthon turned the axe 
on him, and laid him low. Then from the midst of the oak 
came a voice: 

"I, who dwell in this tree, am a nymph beloved of Ceres, 
and, dying by your hands, forewarn you that punishment 
^awaits you," 

He desisted not from his crime, and at last the tree, 
sundered by repeated blows and drawn by ropes, fell 
with a crash, and prostrated a great part of the grove in 
its fall. 

The Dryads, in dismay at the loss of their companion and 
at seeing the pride of the forest laid low, went in a body to 
Ceres, all clad in garments of mourning, and invoked pun- 
ishment upon Erisichthon. Ceres nodded assent, and 
called an Oread to her side. She sent the Oread into ice- 
clad Scythia to summon Famine to come and prey on the 
bowels of Erisichthon. 

The Oread stepped into the chariot of Ceres, and whipped 
up the team of dragons. She found Famine in a stony field, 
pulling up with teeth and claws the scanty herbage. Her 
hair was rough, her eyes sunk, her lips blanched, her jaws 
covered with dust, and her skin drawn tight so as to show 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 13 

all her bones. The Oread stood afar off, and delivered the 
message of Ceres, for even the sight of famine made one feel 
hungry. 

Famine obeyed the commands of Ceres, and sped through 
the air to the dwelling of Erisichthon, entered the bed- 
chamber of the guilty man, and found him asleep. She 
breathed upon him, and filled his veins with her poison. 
Even in his dreams he began to crave food, and, when he 
awoke, his hunger was raging. The more he ate, the more 
he craved. His property rapidly diminished under the 
unceasing demands of his appetite, but his hunger contin- 
ued unabated. Even his daughter he sold as a slave in 
order to get food wherewith to sate his stomach. By the 
kindness of Jupiter, the maiden escaped from her first 
master. Her father sold her again, and again, and a third, 
and a fourth, even a fifth time, Jupiter freed her, but the 
food which the base father obtained by thus selling his 
daughter was not enough for his wants, and at last hunger 
compelled him to devour his own limbs till death relieved 
him from the vengeance of Ceres. 

— " Age of Fable/ 7 by Thomas Bulfinch. 

8.— THE POWER OF MUSIC 

Orpheus played upon the lyre with such perfection that 
nothing could withstand the charm of his music. Not only 
his fellow-mortals were softened by his strains, but wild 
beasts, gathering round him, when he played, laid by their 
fierceness, and stood entranced by his lay. Nay, the very 
trees and rocks were sensible to the charm. The former 
crowded around him, and the latter relaxed somewhat of 
their hardness, softened by his notes. 

Shortly after his marriage with her, Eurydice, the young 
wife of Orpheus, trod upon a snake in the grass, and died of 



14 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

the bite which the serpent inflicted. Orpheus sang his 
grief to all who breathed the upper air, both gods and men, 
and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek his wife in the 
regions of the dead. By the sweetness of his lyre, he 
charmed a way into the Stygian realm. So sweet was his 
song of petition to Pluto and Proserpine that the very 
ghosts shed tears. For the one time in all their existence 
the Furies felt their cheeks wet, and the king and queen of 
the nether regions, cruel as they usually are, could not 
resist. They called Eurydice, still limping from her 
wounded foot, and sent her up to earth with her husband, 
the only condition of her release being that he should not 
turn around to look at her till they should have reached the 
upper air. Orpheus observed the conditions until he had 
nearly reached the outlet, when in a moment of forgetful- 
ness, he cast a glance behind him. Instantly Eurydice was 
borne away. 

Orpheus tried to follow his wife, but was sternly refused 
admission to the regions below. Seven days he lingered on 
the brink of the river Styx, the boundary of Hades; then 
bitterly accusing of cruelty the powers of Erebus, he sang 
his complaints to the rocks and mountains, melting the 
hearts of tigers, and moving the oaks from their stations. 
He held himself aloof from men, and the Thracians, in whose 
country he dwelt, became incensed against him. One day 
one of them in anger threw a javelin at him. The weapon, 
as soon as it came within the sound of his lyre, fell harmless 
at his feet. So did also the stones that they threw at him. 
But the Thracians raised a tumult, and drowned the voice 
of the music, and then the missiles reached him, and soon 
were stained with his blood. The maniacs tore him limb 
from limb, and threw his head and his lyre into the river 
Hebrus, down which they floated, murmuring sad music, 
to which the shores gave back a plaintive melody. The 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 15 

Muses gathered up the fragments of his body, and buried 
them at Libethra, where the nightingale is said to sing over 
his grave more sweetly than in any other part of Greece. 
His lyre was placed by Jupiter among the stars. His shade 
passed to his beloved wife in Tartarus. 

— " Age of Fable," by Thomas Bulfinch. 

9.— COSTLY GIFTS 

Badi-al-Zaman was the richest man in Bagdad. One day 
a fowler brought him a strange bird with shining gold 
feathers such as no one had ever seen before. Badi, taking 
the bird into his hands, noticed that under its right wing 
were written the words, " He who eats my head will become 
a king/ 7 and under the left wing were the words, "He who 
eats my heart will find a hundred gold pieces under his 
pillow every morning." Badi, of course, paid the fowler 
his own price for the bird. Then he asked the man if he 
were married, and, on hearing that he was, gave him the 
bird to take home, promising to pay his wife extra for the 
cooking of it. 

In due time Badi arrived at the fowler's cottage, and as 
soon as the steaming dish of bird was placed before him, 
began looking for the head and heart. He could not dis- 
cover them, and soon turned furiously on the fowler's wife, 
demanding them of her. She was so terrified by his display 
of anger that she fell on her knees, and confessed that, while 
she was preparing the dish, her two children had so teased 
her for some of it that she had given them the head and the 
heart, since these were parts generally not much esteemed. 
Her explanations failed to mollify Badi. He rushed from 
the cottage, vowing vengeance on the whole family. 

The wrath of a rich man is generally something to fear, 
so the fowler and his wife resolved to send their children out 
of harm's way, — a resolution they came to all the easier be- 



16 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

cause the wife confessed to her husband that, being able to 
read the words under the wings of the bird, she had pur- 
posely given the head and heart to her children in order to 
secure their good fortune. Believing, therefore, that their 
children's fortunes were made, they sent them away with- 
out much regret, and hid themselves in the town. 

The younger son, who had eaten the heart of the yellow 
bird, very soon found out what it had done for him; for, 
each morning when he awoke, he found a purse containing 
a hundred gold pieces under his pillow. He spent with so 
reckless a profusion that he was supposed to be possessed 
of a great hoard of gold, and before long was attacked by 
robbers, wounded, and killed. 

The elder brother, who had eaten the head of the yellow 
bird, traveled a long way before he met with any particular 
adventure, until at last he reached a large city in Asia which 
was all in an uproar over the election of an emir. The 
principal citizens had formed themselves into two parties, 
and it was not till after a prolonged struggle that they 
agreed that the person to whom the most singular thing hap- 
pened should be emir. Our young traveler entered the 
town just at this juncture, and all at once felt something 
light on his head, which proved to be a snow-white pigeon. 
Thereupon all the people began to stare and to run after 
him, and, on his reaching the palace, all the people of the 
city were at his heels, and made him emir before he knew 
what they were about. 

The young emir fell into the knack of giving orders read- 
ily enough, but he made so many mistakes that the whole 
city soon rose in revolt, and deprived him of his command 
and of his life. 

Two young lives cut off before their prime, — this was the 
price which the brothers paid for the gifts of the yellow bird. 
— "The Green Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 17 

10.— THE FATE OF CUNNING 

A little pig, Blacky by name, once had to go into a neigh- 
boring town to do some marketing and to buy a big kettle. 
As he was walking home with the kettle slung over his 
shoulder, he heard a sound of footsteps creeping after him, 
and he knew that the fox, who had destroyed several of his 
family, was following him. For a moment his heart stood 
still with fear, and then a happy thought came to him. He 
had just reached the top of a hill, and could see his own little 
house nestling among the trees at the foot of it. In a mo- 
ment he had snatched the lid off the kettle, and had jumped 
in himself. Coiling himself around, he lay quite snug in the 
bottom of the kettle, while with his foreleg he managed to 
put the lid on so that he was entirely hidden. With a little 
kick from within, he managed to start the kettle off, and 
down the hill it rolled full tilt; and, when the fox came up, 
all that he saw was a large black kettle spinning over the 
ground at a great pace. Very much disappointed he was 
just going to turn back, when he saw the kettle stop close to 
the little house. He waited, and a moment later saw 
Blacky jump out of the kettle, and taking it up on his 
shoulder, carry it into his house with him. Then he barred 
and bolted the door, and put the shutter up over the win- 
dow. 

" Oho! " exclaimed the fox to himself, "you think you will 
escape me that way, do you?" 

Very quietly and stealthily the fox crept down the hill, 
and prowled round the house looking for some way to climb 
L on the roof. 

In the meantime Blacky had filled the kettle with water, 
and after putting it on the fire, sat down quietly waiting for 
it to boil. Just as the kettle was beginning to sing, and 
steam to come out of the spout, Blacky heard a sound like a 



18 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

soft, muffled step, patter, patter, patter overhead, and the 
next moment the fox's head and paws were seen coming 
down the chimney. But Blacky, very wisely, had not put 
the lid on the kettle, and with a yelp of pain the fox fell into 
the boiling water, and before he could escape Blacky had 
popped on the lid, and the fox was scalded to death. 

— "The Green Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

11.— AS DEAR AS SALT 

A certain king, who had no sons, determined to leave his 
kingdom to the one of his two daughters who loved him 
most. When he asked the elder daughter how much she 
loved him, she said that she loved him as the apple of her 
eye. The old man was pleased with the answer, and kissed 
her tenderly. When he sent for the younger and asked her 
how much she loved him, she answered, 

"I look upon you, my father, as I look upon salt in my 
I food." 

The king did not like her words, and ordered her to quit 
the court and never again to appear before him. The poor 
princess went sadly up to her room, and hurriedly made a 
bundle of her jewels and best dresses, and left the castle 
where she was born. She did not know very well what was 
to become of her, for she had been raised as most princesses 
are, and had never been shown how to work. She was 
afraid, too, that no housewife would want to employ a girl 
with such delicate hands and clad so softly. She therefore 
took off the rich clothes which she was wearing, and put 
on some old rags that belonged to a beggar. Thus attired 
she wandered off to a distant land, and there applied for 
work to a farmer's wife, and was sent out to watch the geese. 

One day while she was tending her geese, she felt a wish 
to dress herself in her robes of splendor. She washed her- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 19 

self carefully in the stream, shook off her old rags, and soon 
transformed herself into a great lady. Now it so happened 
that the king's son who was out hunting came upon her just 
then, and fell in love at first sight. He impetuously offered 
her his hand, but she refused to accept his suit until it were 
approved by her father. Thereupon the ardent young 
suitor sent off messengers to the country of the princess to 
ask her father's permission and to invite him to the wedding. 

The father of the princess, who had never ceased to repent 
his harshness to his daughter, had sought her through the 
land; but, as no one could tell him anything of her, he sup- 
posed her dead. Therefore it was with great joy that he 
heard she was living, and that a king's son had asked her in 
marriage, and he quitted his kingdom with his elder daugh- 
ter so as to be present at the ceremony. 

By order of the bride they served her father at the wed- 
ding-feast only bread without salt, and meat without sea- 
soning. Seeing him make faces and eat very little, his 
daughter, who sat next to him, inquired if the dinner were 
not to his taste. 

"No," he replied, "the dishes are carefully cooked and 
prepared, but they are all so dreadfully tasteless." 

"Did I not tell you, my father, that salt was the best 
thing in life? And yet when I compared you to salt, to show 
you how much I loved yoy, you thought slightingly of me, 
, and drove me from your presence." 

The king embraced his daughter, and confessed he had 
been wrong to misinterpret her words. Then for the rest 
of the feast they gave him bread and meat seasoned with 
salt, and he said they were the best he had ever eaten. 

— "The Green Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 



20 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

12.— JORINDE AND JORINGEL 

One afternoon a young maiden, Jorinde, and her be- 
trothed, Joringel, were walking through the summer woods, 
when they came near a castle inhabited by a horrid old 
witch. This old sorceress had a malignant habit of chang- 
ing into birds all the young maidens who came within her 
power, and of keeping them in cages in her household. As 
soon as she saw Jorinde, she came out, and changed her into 
a nightingale. Joringel was beside himself with grief, and, 
on his knees, besought the wrinkled crone to release Jorinde. 
Her answer was to cast a spell on him which kept him 
rooted to the spot till the moon rose. 

Then he went away, and came at last to a strange village 
where he dragged out a disconsolate and miserable exist- 
ence. He often went around the witch's castle, but took 
great care never to approach too close. At last he dreamed 
one night that he had found a blood-red flower which had in 
its center a beautiful large pearl. He plucked the flower, 
and went with it to the castle, and there everything which 
he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment, 
and he got his Jorinde back again through it. 

When he awoke in the morning he began to seek moun- 
tain and valley to find such a flower. He sought it for eight 
days, and on the ninth, early in ,the morning, he found the 
blood-red flower. In its center was a large dewdrop, as big 
as the most lovely pearl. He traveled day and night with 
the flower until he arrived at the castle. When he came 
within a hundred paces of it, he feared he might be held fast 
by the power of the witch, but found that he was able to go 
on till he reached the gate. He touched the great gate with 
the flower, and it sprang open. He entered, passed through 
the courtyard, and then stopped to listen for the singing of 
the birds. At last he heard it. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 21< 

He went in, and found a hall where was the enchantress 
with her seven thousand birds in her wicker cages. When 
she saw Joringel, she was furious, and breathed out poison 
and gall at him, but she could not move a step toward him. 
He took no notice of her, but went, and looked over the 
cages of birds, but there were many hundred nightingales, 
and how was he to find Jorinde among them? While he 
was considering, he observed the old witch take up a 
cage secretly, and go with it toward the door. Instantly he 
sprang after her, touched the cage with the flower, and the 
old woman as well. Now she could no longer work en- 
chantments, and there stood Jorinde before him as beauti- 
ful as ever. Then he turned all the other birds in the seven 
thousand cages into maidens again, and took home his 

bride, Jorinde. 

— "The Green Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

13.— SPINDLE, SHUTTLE AND NEEDLE 

A king's son was making a tour through his entire coun- 
try looking for a bride. He could not marry a poor woman, 
and he did not wish a rich one. His bride, he thought, 
must be at once the poorest and the richest. 

When he reached a certain village, he inquired who was 
the richest, and who was the poorest woman in it. The 
richest was named first. The poorest, he was told, lived 
alone in a little cottage at the far end of the village, and 
earned her living by spinning, weaving and sewing. 

The rich girl sat at her door dressed out in all her best, 
and when the king's son came near to her, she got up and 
made him a low courtesy. He looked well at her, said 
nothing, but rode on further. 

When he reached the poor girl's house, he did not find her 
at her door ? for she was at work in her room. The prince 



. 22 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



) 



reined in his horse, looked in at the window through which 
the sun was shining brightly, and saw the girl busy at her 
wheel spinning away. 

She looked up, and when she saw the king's son gazing in 
at her, she blushed red all over, cast down her eyes, and 
spun on. When the king's son had ridden off, she stepped 
to the window, and opened the lattice, saying, "The room is 
so hot," but she looked after the prince as far as she could 
see the plumes of his hat. 

Then she sat down to her work once more, and spun on, 
and as she did so, an old song which she had often heard 
came into her head, and she began to sing: 
"Spindle, spindle, go and see 
If my love will come to me." 

Lo and behold! the spindle leaped from her hand, and 
rushed out of the room, and when she had sufficiently re- 
covered from her surprise to look after it, she saw it dancing 
merrily through the fields dragging a long golden thread 
after it, and soon it was lost to sight. 

The girl having lost her spindle took up her shuttle, and 
seating herself at her loom began to weave. Meantime the 
spindle danced on and on, and just as it had come to the 
end of the golden thread, it reached the king's son. 

"What do I see?" he cried, "the spindle seems to want to 
point out the way to me." 

So he turned his horse's head, and rode back beside the 
„ golden thread. 

Meantime the girl sat weaving and sang — 

"Shuttle, weave both web and woof; 
Bring my love beneath my roof." 

The shuttle instantly escaped from her hand, and with 
one bound was out at the door. On the threshold it began 
weaving the loveliest carpet that was ever seen. Roses and 
lilies bloomed on both sides, and in the center a thicket 



J 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 23 

f seemed to grow with rabbits and hares running through it, 
stags and fawns peeping through the branches, while on the 
topmost boughs sat birds of brilliant plumage and so life- 
like one might almost expect to hear them sing. The shut- 
tle flew from side to side, and the carpet seemed to grow of 
itself. 

As the shuttle had run away the girl sat down to sew. 
She took her needle, and began to sing — 
" Needle, needle, stitch away; 
Make my chamber bright and gay/' 
and the needle slipped through her fingers, and flew about 
the room like lightning. You would have thought invisible 
spirits were at work, for, in next to no time, the table and 
benches were covered with green cloth, the chairs with vel- 
vet, and elegant silk curtains hung before the windows. 
The needle had barely put in its last stitch, when the girl, 
glancing at the window, spied the white plumed hat of the 
king's son, who was being led back by the spindle with the 
. golden thread. 
If He dismounted, and walked over the carpet into the 
house, and when he entered the room, he said to the poor 
girl— 

" You are the poorest, and yet the richest. Come, and be 
my bride/ ' 

She said nothing, but held out her hand, and he led her 
away to his father's palace where the wedding was cele- 
brated with great rejoicings. 

— "The Green Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

14.— THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH 

a Very long ago, as old people tell, there lived a terrible 
monster who came out of the North, and laid waste whole 
tracts of country, devouring both men and beasts. It had a 



24 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

body like an ox and legs like a frog, two short forelegs and 
two long ones behind, and it had a tail like a serpent ten 
fathoms long. When it 8 moved, it jumped like a frog, and 
with every spring it covered half a mile of ground. Nothing 
could harm it because its whole body was covered with 
scales which were harder than stone or metal. Its two 
great eyes shone by night and even by day, like the brightest 
lamps, and anyone who had the ill-luck to look into those 
lamps became, as it were, bewitched, and was obliged to rush 
of his own accord into the monster's jaws. All the neigh- 
boring kings had offered rich rewards to anyone who would 
destroy the monster, and many bold adventurers had tried, 
but all had perished miserably. 

Now there was a tradition among the wise men of the 
country that the dragon might be overcome by one who 
possessed King Solomon's signet ring. One young man 
more adventurous than many of his fellows set out to find 
the ring, and by rare good luck got possession of it from a 
witch in the far East. Among the many virtues of this ring 
there were two which the young man made use of in over- 
coming the dragon; if worn on the middle finger of the left 
hand, it made the wearer invisible, while if worn on the 
thumb of the left hand, it gave its wearer incredible 
strength. 

Equipped with this ring and with a list of instructions 
supplied by a certain magician of the time, the young man 
set to work for his contest with the dragon. He had an iron 
horse cast which had little wheels under each foot. He 
armed himself with a spear two fathoms long which he was 
able to wield only by reason of the ring on his thumb. This 
spear was as thick in the middle as a large tree, and both its 
ends were sharpened. In the middle of the spear were two 
long chains ten fathoms in length. The last articles with 
which the young man supplied himself were two iron stakes. 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 25 

The young man had not long to wait for his foe. He had 
hardly completed his preparations when news was brought 
that the dragon was approaching the kingdom, and would 
be over the frontier in a few bounds. The youth wore on 
his left thumb the ring of Solomon. From his seat upon its 
back he pushed forward the iron horse with his spear, as if 
he were pushing off a boat from land. The dragon had his 
monstrous mouth wide open. A few paces more and man 
and horse would be swallowed up. The youth trembled 
with horror, and his blood ran cold; yet he did not lose cour- 
age. Holding his spear upright in his hand, he brought it 
down with all his might right through the monster's lower 
jaw. Then quick as lightning he made himself invisible by 
slipping his ring on the middle finger, and sprang from his 
horse before the dragon had time to close his mouth. A 
fearful clap of thunder, which could be heard for miles 
around, now warned him that the dragon's jaws had closed 
upon the spear. When he turned around he saw the upper 
point of the spear sticking up high above the dragon's upper 
jaw, and knew that the other end must be fastened in the 
earth. Immediately the youth slipped his magic ring on 
the thumb of his left hand, and with the strength that thus 
came to him hastened to fasten to the ground the chains of 
the spear by means of the iron pegs which he had provided. 
The death struggle of the monster lasted three days and 
three nights; in his writhing he beat his tail so violently 
against the ground that at ten miles' distance the earth 
trembled as if with an earthquake. When he at length lost 
power to move his tail, the youth with the help of his ring, 
took up a stone which twenty ordinary men could not have 
moved, and beat the dragon so hard about the head with it 
that very soon the monster lay lifeless before him. 

So perished the Dragon of the North, and its conqueror, 
after being ennobled for his deed, wedded the king's daugh- 



26 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

ter, and became in time king of the country which he had 
saved. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

15.— THE SEVEN-HEADED SERPENT 

Long time ago a certain kingdom of Greece had to pay a 
terrible yearly tribute to the seven-headed serpent who was 
king of all wild beasts. This tribute was twelve youths and 
twelve maidens whom the serpent devoured as soon as they 
landed on the island where he lived. When this had been 
going on for a number of years, the young king of this Gre- 
cian kingdom was addressed by his favorite horse, a very 
wise and prudent animal. 

" Listen to me, for I love you, and wish for your good and 
that of your country. If you go on every year sending 
twelve youths and twelve maidens to the king of the beasts, 
the seven-headed serpent, your country will soon be ruined. 
Mount on my back, and I will take you to a powerful en- 
chantress who will direct you how to kill the serpent.' ' 

Then the youth mounted his horse which carried him far 
away to a mountain which was hollow, for in its side was a 
great undergound cavern. In the cavern sat an old woman 
spinning. As soon as the young prince saw this old dame, 
he threw himself at her feet, and entreated her to tell him 
how he might kill the seven-headed serpent. She lifted the 
youth from the ground, and made him sit down beside her. 
Then she instructed him how it would be possible to kill the 
dreaded serpent. 

As soon as he had heard the good enchantress through, 
the young man left the cave, and prepared for the under- 
taking. He loaded his horse with cotton, and went by a 
secret way, which the old woman had told him of, to the ser- 
pent's palace. He found the serpent asleep on his bed, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 27 

which was hung around with bells, and over the bed saw 
a sword hanging. With this sword only was it possible to 
kill the serpent, and even if its blade broke, a new one grew 
for every head that the monster had. The young prince 
slipped into the chamber very softly, and stuffed with 
cotton all the bells which were around the serpent's bed. 
Then he took down the sword gently, and with it gave the 
monster a blow on its tail. This wakened the serpent, and 
he lifted up one ugly head to seize the young man. Quick 
as a flash the sword glanced through the air, and that head 
rolled to the ground. Up came another head, and another, 
and another, and off they rolled one after the other till the 
seven of them lay bleeding and grinning on the ground. 

As soon as he had accomplished his mission, the young 
man mounted his horse, and fled from the serpent's palace. 
With a joyous heart he greeted his people, and told them 
that the terror was dead, and with even more joyous hearts 
did they in turn greet him. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

16.— GRATITUDE 

Ferko was a young man not remarkable for brains, or 
beauty, or wealth. He had one sterling quality; he was 
kind-hearted. Distress in any one aroused his sympathy. 
One day as he was traveling along the highway, a queen bee 
flew against him, trailing one wing behind her which had 
been cruelly torn by a big bird. Many another would have 
thrown- the bee far from him, fearful of a sting, but Ferko 
took the bee in his hand, and succeeded in repairing the wing, 
because he was a somewhat ingenious youth. The bee 
thanked him profusely, and flew away among the flowers. 

A few days later Ferko happened to come into a certain 
large city where, unknown to him, certain enemies of his had 



28 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

obtained responsible positions in the service of the king. 
As soon as these enemies discovered that Ferko was in the 
city, they resolved to revenge the old scores which they had 
against him. They told the king that he was the emissary 
of a hostile prince, and had come to spy out the strength of 
the kingdom and to discover the best means of doing them 
harm. The king summoned the young man before him. 
The young man protested his innocence so strongly that he 
made some impression on the king. Instead of sentencing 
him to death as he had intended, he declared he would let 
him go free, if, within three days, he would build a more 
beautiful palace than that in which the king lived. If he 
failed, he would die on the morning of the fourth day. 

Ferko went out of the king's presence heart-broken and 
cursing the hour he had come into that city. As he was 
wandering disconsolately about the meadows round the 
king's palace, wondering how he could escape being put to 
death, a little bee flew past, and settling on his shoulder 
whispered in his ear: 

" What is troubling you, my kind benefactor? Can I be 
of any help to you? I am the bee whose wing you healed, 
.and I would like to show my gratitude in some way." 

Ferko told her his troubles disconsolately, little hoping 
for any help from her. But the queen bee cheerily assured 
him that she could easily help him. He was astonished at 
her words, but there was something in her voice that gave 
him confidence. He waited patiently for the morning of 
the third day. Early that morning Ferko was awakened 
by a cheerful voice at his ear. 

"The wonderful palace is finished. Be of good cheer and 
.lead the king to the hill just outside the city walls." 

Ferko went at once to the king, and told him the palace 
was completed. The whole court went out to see the won- 
der, and their astonishment was great at the sight which 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 29 

met their eyes. A splendid palace reared itself on the hill 
just outside the walls of the city, made of the most exquisite 
flowers that ever grew in mortal garden. The roof was 
tiled with crimson roses, the windows were white lilies, the 
walls were built of white carnations, the floors were mosaics 
of glowing auriculas and violets, the doors were inlaid with 
gorgeous tulips and narcissi, and the knockers that hung 
upon them were sunflowers, and all around the palace and 
through its halls and vaulted chambers hyacinths and other 
sweet-smelling flowers bloomed in masses, so that the air 
was perfumed far and near, and enchanted all who were 
present. 

The king's amazement knew no bounds. He acknowl- 
edged that Ferko had won his freedom, and asked him to 
stay and accept an honorable position in his kingdom. But 
Ferko's recollections of the kingdom were too unpleasant to 
make a longer stay desirable. He hastened away as soon 
as possible, taking with him one good resolution — never to 
fail in kindness even to the least of creatures. When he had 
fixed the broken wing of the queen bee, he had never 
dreamed that one day he would owe his life to her gratitude. 
— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

17.— A LITTLE KINDNESS 

A herd-boy was sitting on the grass beside his flocks, one 
night, when he heard a sound not far from him as of some 
one groaning. He rose up, and walked in the direction of 
the noise. To his dismay and astonishment he found a giant 
lying on the ground not far away beside an uprooted tree. 
He was about to run away, when the giant called out: 
"Don't be afraid — I won't harm you. On the contrary 
I will reward you handsomely, if you will bind up my in- 
jured foot." 



30 TEACHERS 3 HANDBOOK 

The voice sounded honest, and the boy turned back. He 
found that the giant had hurt his foot in uprooting the tree. 
He examined the injury, and taking off his shirt, bound up 
the foot as best he could. The giant thanked him heartily, 
and when he limped off, called to the boy to follow him. 

He led the way to a hole in the ground, and going down 
into this, the pair soon came to a golden banqueting hall. 
On the tables were spread the richest viands in the greatest 
profusion, and the giant invited the boy to be seated and 
to partake of the dainties. The poor youth fell to, and ate, 
and drank lustily. When he had eaten and drunk till he 
was satisfied, the giant took a loaf from the table, and 
stowed it away under the boy's tunic, telling him to eat it 
when he felt hungry again. 

The boy returned to his sheep, and the next morning, 
when he began to feel hungry, he took out his knife to cut 
off a piece of bread from the giant's loaf. But though he 
tried with all his might, he could not cut off the smallest 
piece. Then in despair he bit the loaf, and what was his 
astonishment when a piece of gold fell out of his mouth, and 
rolled at his feet! He bit the bread a second, and a third 
time, and each time a piece of gold fell out of his mouth, but 
the bread remained untouched. The herd-boy was very 
much delighted over his stroke of good fortune, and hiding 
the magic loaf in his bag, he hurried off to the nearest village 
to buy himself something to eat, and then returned to his 
sheep. But as may be imagined, he did not remain a herd- 
boy long. The temptation to bite the loaf was too great, 
and by dint of frequent biting he soon became so rich that 
his wealth was the wonder of the country. Whenever any- 
one asked him how to become rich, he invariably answered 
to do everyone every kindness, no matter how small, that 
was asked and was possible. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 31 



18.— THE GLASS MOUNTAIN 



Once upon a time there was a glass mountain on 
the top of which stood a castle made of pure gold, and in 
front of the castle there grew an apple-tree on which there 
were golden apples. Any one who picked an apple gained 
admission to the golden castle, and there in a silver room 
sat an enchanted princess of surpassing fairness and beauty. 
She was as rich, too, as she was beautiful, for the cellars of 
the castle were full of precious stones, and great chests of 
the finest gold stood around the walls of the rooms. Many 
and many an adventurer had tried to climb the glass moun- 
tain, and in the deep ravines at the base of the mountain lay 
as many grinning skeletons as there were men who had 
attempted to climb it. 

At last a mere schoolboy made up his mind to make the 
attempt in which so many others had failed. He went to 
the forest, and caught a lynx, and cutting off the creature's 
claws, he fastened them on his own hands and feet. 

Thus armed he boldly started up the glass mountain. 
The sun was nearly down before the boy had gotten halfway 
up. He could hardly draw breath, he was so worn out, and 
his mouth was parched with thirst. A huge black cloud 
passed over his head, but in vain did he beg, and beseech her 
to let a drop of water fall on him. Not so much as even a 
drop of dew moistened his lips. 

Evening came on. It was pitch dark save for the feeble 
light of the stars. The boy's feet were so torn that he could 
no longer use them. He clung on as if glued to the glass by 
his hands. He made no struggle to get higher, for all his 
strength had left him, and seeing no hope, he calmly 
awaited death. Exhausted by his efforts, he fell into a deep 
sleep, and forgetful of his dangerous position, slumbered 
sweetly. 



32 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Now the golden apple-tree was guarded by an eagle. 
Every night it flew around the mountain keeping a careful 
lookout, and no sooner had the moon emerged from the 
clouds than the bird rose up from the apple-tree, and cir- 
cling round in the air, caught sight of the sleeping youth. 
Greedy for carrion and sure that this must be a fresh corpse, 
the bird swooped down upon the boy. But he was awake 
now, and determined to save himself by the help of the 
eagle. 

The eagle dug its claws into the tender flesh of the youth, 
but he bore the pain without a sound, and seized the bird's 
two feet with his hands. The creature in terror lifted him 
high up into the air, and began to circle round the tower of 
the castle. The youth held on bravely. He saw the glit- 
tering palace, which by the light of the pale moon looked 
like a dim lamp; and he saw the high windows, and round 
one of them a balcony on which the beautiful princess sat, 
lost in sad thoughts. Then the boy saw that he was close to 
the apple-tree, and drawing a small knife from his belt, he 
cut off both the eagle's feet. The bird rose up in the air in 
its agony, and vanished in the clouds, and the youth fell on 
the broad branches of the apple-tree. 

Then he drew out the claws of the eagle's feet that had 
remained in his flesh, and put the peel of one of the golden 
apples on the wound, and in one moment it was healed and 
well again. He pulled several of the beautiful apples, and 
put them in his pocket, and entered the castle. The door 
was guarded by a great dragon, but as soon as he threw an 
apple at it, the beast vanished. At the same moment a 
gate opened, and the youth perceived a court-yard full of 
flowers and beautiful trees, and on the balcony sat the 
lovely enchanted princess with her retinue. 

As soon as she saw the youth, she ran toward him, and 
greeted him as her husband and master; she gave him all her 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 33 

treasures. He never returned to earth, but remained on 
the glass mountain, and enjoyed his great riches. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

19.— THE BROKEN PROMISE 

On his death-bed, an old Indian, who lived in the midst 
of a deep forest, called around him his three motherless 
children. From the two elder, a boy and a girl, he exacted 
a promise that they would never forsake their younger 
brother. They gave the promise willingly, and the father 
died in peace. 

While the snow lay thick on the ground, the brother and 
sister tended their younger brother, but when the earth 
showed green again, the heart of the older brother stirred 
within him, and he longed to see the wigwams of the village 
where his father's youth had been spent. He opened his 
heart to his sister, and she reminded him of the promise he 
had made to his father. But he would not listen, and mak- 
ing no reply, he took his bow and arrows, and left the hut. 
" The snows fell, and melted, yet he never returned; and at 
last the heart of the girl grew cold and hard, and the little 
boy became a burden in her eyes, till one day she spoke to 
him thus: 

"See, there is food for many days to come. Stay here 
within the shelter of the hut. I go to seek our brother, and 
, when I have found him, I shall return hither." 

But when after hard journeying she reached the village 
where her elder brother dwelt, and saw that he had a wife, 
and was happy, and when she, too, was sought by a young 
brave, she also forgot the boy alone out there in the forest, 
and thought only of her husband. 

Now as soon as the little boy had eaten all the food which 
his sister had left him, he went out into the woods, and 



34 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

gathered berries, and dug up roots, and while the sun 
shone, he was contented, and had his fill. But when the 
snows began, and the wind howled, then his stomach felt 
empty, and his limbs cold; and he hid in the trees all night, 
and only crept out to eat what the wolves had left behind. 
And by and by, having no other friends, he sought their 
company, and sat by while they devoured their prey; and 
they grew to know him, and gave him food. And without 
them he would have died in the snow. 

At last the ice upon the great lake melted, and as the 
wolves went down to the shore, the boy went after them. 
It happened one day that his elder brother was fishing in 
his canoe near the shore, when he heard the voice of a child 
singing in the Indian tongue: 

"My brother, my brother! 

I am becoming a wolf, 

I am becoming a wolf!" 

and when he had sung, he howled as wolves howl. Then 

the heart of the elder brother sank, and he hastened toward 

him, crying: 

"Brother, little brother, come to me." 
But he, being a wolf, only continued his song. The louder 
the elder called after him, the swifter he fled after his new 
brothers, the wolves, and the heavier grew his skin, till, with 
c a long howl, he vanished into the depths of the forest. 
g So, with shame and anguish in his soul, the elder brother 
went back to his village, and with his sister mourned the 
little boy and their broken promise till the end of their lives. 
— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

20.— THE DEAD WIFE 

a There were once an Indian and his wife who lived in the 
forest far from the rest of the tribe. One day, when the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 35 

husband was far away on a hunting expedition, the wife fell 
ill, and died. He grieved bitterly, and buried her in the 
house, where she had passed her life, but as the time went 
on, he felt so lonely without her that he made a wooden doll 
about her height and size for company, and dressed it in her 
clothes. He seated it in front of the fire, and tried to think 
he had his wife back again. The next day he went out to 
hunt, and when he came home, the first thing he did was to 
go up to the doll and brush off some ashes from the fire 
which had fallen on its face. 

Another day, when he came back from hunting, he found 
some wood at the door of his cabin, and a fire burning 
within. The next night there was not only wood and fire 
but a piece of meat in the kettle, nearly ready for eating. 
He was mystified. The next time he went out hunting, he 
took care not to go far and to come back early. While he 
was still a long way off, he saw a woman going into the house 
with wood on her shoulders. So he made haste, and open- 
ing the door quickly, found his wife and not the wooden 
doll sitting before the fire. She turned to him, as he came 
in, and said: 

"The Great Spirit felt sorry for you because you would 
not be comforted, so he let me come back to you, but you 
must not touch me till we have seen the rest of our people. 
, If you do, I shall die." 

The man was delighted to have his wife back with him 
again, and made haste to go back to his people so that should 
he by chance touch her, the touch should not cause him to 
lose her a second time. He prepared food for the journey, a 
string of deer's flesh for her to carry, and one for himself. 
Now the camp of the tribe was distant six days' journey, 
and when they were one day's journey off, it began to snow, 
and they felt hungry, and longed for rest. Therefore they 
made a fire, and set about preparing a meal. In passing 



36 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

around the fire he brushed against her, and she fell without 
a sound into the fire. He reached for her instantly, and 
drew her from the flames, but what was his grief when he 
found that he was clasping the wooden doll! 

When he saw what had happened, he pushed the doll from 
him in his misery, and rushed away to the Indian camp, and 
told them his story. Some doubted him, and went back 
with him to the place where he and his wife had stopped in 
the forest; there lay the doll, and besides, they saw in the 
snow the steps of two people; and the foot of one was like 
the foot of the doll. They went back convinced of the 
truth of what the man had said; and he went back with 
them, weighed down by a grief which never grew lighter. 
— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

21.— IN THE LAND OF SOULS 

In the beginning of the cruel winter, the beauteous wife of 
the young Sachem of the North died. Two moons he sat in 
his wigwam disconsolate. Then he remembered that he 
had once heard from the elders of the tribe that the Land of 
Souls was far to the south, and that, if he could reach it, he 
would find his dead wife. 

Two months later the Sachem stood on a high cliff far 
away in the Southland, and an old man stood beside him 
pointing off into the distance. The old man was talking. 

"Look," he said, "at the water which lies far out yonder, 

and the plains which stretch beyond. That is the Land of 

Souls; but no man enters it without leaving his body behind 

him. So lay down your body here. It shall be kept safely 

.for you." 

He turned away, and the young chief, light as air, seemed 
hardly to touch the ground. As he flew along, the scents 
grew sweeter, and the flowers more beautiful^ while the ani- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 37 

mals rubbed their noses against him, instead of hiding as he 
approached; and birds circled round him, and fishes lifted 
up their heads, and looked as he went by. Very soon he 
noticed with wonder that neither rocks nor trees barred his 
path. He passed through them without knowing it for 
indeed they were not rocks nor trees at all but only the souls 
of them; for this was the Land of Shadows. 

So he went on with winged feet till he came to the shores 
of a great lake with a lovely island in the middle of it; while, 
on the shore of the lake, was a canoe of glittering stone, and 
in the canoe were two shining paddles. 

The chief jumped into the canoe, and seizing the paddles, 
pushed off from the shore, when to his joy and wonder, he 
saw following him in another canoe exactly like his own, the 
maiden for whose sake he had made this journey, his de- 
parted wife. But they could not touch each other, for be- 
tween them rolled great waves which looked as if they would 
sink the boats, yet never did. The young chief and his wife 
shrank with fear, for down in the depths of the water they 
saw the bones of those who had lived before; and in the 
waves themselves men and women were struggling, and but 
few passed over. Only the children had no fear, and reached 
the other side in safety. No harm, too, came to the chief 
and his wife, for their lives had been free from evil, and the 
Master of Life had said that no evil should happen to them. 
So they reached unhurt the shore of the happy land, and 
wandered through the flowery fields and by the banks of 
rushing streams, and they knew not hunger nor thirst, 
neither cold 'nor heat. The air fed them, and the sun 
warmed them, and they forgot the dead, for they saw no 
graves; and the young chief's thoughts turned not to wars 
nor to the hunt. And gladly would these two have walked 
thus forever; but in the murmur of the wind the young 
chief heard the Master of Life saying to him; 



38 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

f(C) " Return whither you came, for I have a work for you to 
do, and your people need you, and for many years, you shall 
rule over them. At the gate my messenger awaits you, and 
you shall take again your body which you left behind, and 
he will show you what you are to do. Listen to him, and 
have patience, and in time you shall yet rejoin her whom 
you now must leave; for she is accepted, and will ever re- 
main young and beautiful as when I called her here from the 
land of the snows." 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

22.— A STORY OF KING FROST 

a There was, once upon a time, a peasant woman who had a 
daughter and a stepdaughter. The daughter she hu- 
mored and pampered in every way. The stepdaughter she 
hated; and she never ceased urging her husband to take her 
out into the fields, and let the frost do for her. The husband 
at last yielded to the scold, and forgot himself far enough to 
take his daughter out into the bare, open, winter fields, and 
there abandon her to perish from cold and exposure. 

Deserted by her father, the girl sat down under a tree at 
the edge of the forest, and began to weep bitterly. Sud- 
denly she heard a sound; it was King Frost springing from 
tree to tree and cracking his fingers as he went. At length 
he reached the fir tree beneath which she was sitting, and, 
with a crisp crackling sound, he alighted beside her, and 
looked at her lovely face. 

"Well, maiden/' he snapped out, "do you know who I 
, am? I am King Frost, king of the red noses." 

The maiden replied politely to his bluff salutation. He 
continued the conversation, and though she was chattering 
and freezing from being in such close contact with the icy 
old king, she was too courteous to let her inconvenience ap- 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 39 

pear. She smiled at the old man's jokes, even when she felt 
like crying from the cold. She answered his questions 
patiently, even when the piercing wind made her anxious to 
cut short the interview. In fact her gentle, ladylike words 
and her uncomplaining ways touched him, and he had pity 
on her. He wrapped her up in furs, and covered her with 
blankets, and he fetched a great box, in which were beauti- 
ful jewels and a rich robe embroidered in gold and silver. 
She put on the robe, and looked more lovely than ever; and 
King Frost stepped with her into a sledge hitched to six 
white horses. 

Meantime the wicked stepmother was waiting at home 
for news of the girl's death. Suddenly the door creaked, and 
flew open, and a great, heavy chest was pushed in, and be- 
hind it, came the stepdaughter, radiant and beautiful in a 
dress all glittering in silver and gold. For a moment the 
stepmother's eyes were dazzled. Then she called to her 
husband: 

"Old man, yoke the horses at once to the sled, and take 
my daughter to the same field, and leave her on exactly the 
Lsame spot." 

So the old man took the girl, and left her beneath the 
same tree where he had abandoned his own daughter, and 
where King Frost soon found her. Not being nearly as 
sweet and amiable as her sister, her replies to King Frost 
were anything but courteous. King Frost sprang to and 
fro in front of her, questioning her, and getting only rude 
words in reply, he at last grew very angry, and cracked his 
fingers, and gnashed his teeth, and froze her to death. 

In the hut her mother was waiting for her return; and at 
last, growing impatient, she told her husband to get out the 
horses and to bring the girl home. She did not forget, 
either, to give him special directions not to upset the sled, 
and lose the chest containing the rich jewels. But while she 



40 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

was giving her orders, the door flew open. She rushed out 
to meet her daughter, and as she took the frozen body in 
her arms, she, too, was chilled to death. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book/' by Andrew Lang. 

23.— THE DEATH OF THE SUN-HERO 

a Many years ago there lived a mighty king, whom Heaven 
had blessed with a clever and beautiful son. When he was 
only ten years old, the boy was cleverer than all the king's 
counselors put together. His father could not make 
enough of his son, and always had him clothed in garments 
which shone and sparkled like the sun. His mother gave 
him a white horse which never slept, and which flew like the 
wind. All the people in the land loved him dearly, and 
called him the sun-hero; for they did not think his like ex- 
isted under the sun. 
b One day his father and mother, acting on dreams which 
both of them had had, sent him out into the world to find the 
tree of the sun, and to pluck and bring home from it a golden 
apple. On the ninety-ninth day after leaving home, the 
young man got from an old wizard his first definite informa- 
tion about the whereabouts of the tree; and on the ninety- 
ninth day after that, he found the tree as the wizard had 
directed. As soon as he reached it, he put out his hand to 
pick a golden apple; but all of a sudden the tree grew higher 
so that he could not reach its fruit. While he was standing 
on tiptoe, vainly grasping at the receding fruit, he heard 
some one behind him laughing. Turning round he saw a 
girl in red, the very personage who had appeared to his 
father and mother in their dreams. 
c(C) " Brave son of the earth," said she, " before you can pluck 
an apple from the tree, you must protect it for nine days and 
nine nights from the ravages of two black wolves which will 









FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 41 

try to harm it. If you undertake this task, and do not suc- 
ceed, the king will kill you." 

The sun-hero was not frightened. He promised to guard 
the tree nine days and nine nights. The maiden disap- 
peared, and left him at his post. 

The two black wolves soon appeared. The sun-hero 
beat them off with his sword, and they retired, only to 
reappear in a very short time. The sun-hero chased them 
away once more; but he had hardly sat down to rest, when 
the two black wolves were on the scene once more. This 
went on for seven days and seven nights; and during all that 
time the sun-hero never closed his eyes. On the eighth 
night, however, his strength failed him, and he fell fast 
asleep. 

When he awoke, a woman in black stood beside him and 
said: 

*'You have let the two black wolves damage the tree of 
the sun. I am the mother of the sun, and I command you 
to ride away from here at once, and I pronounce sentence 
of death on you; for you proudly let yourself be called 
the sun-hero, without having done anything to deserve 
^ the name." 

The youth went home to his parents disconsolate, because 
he did not know when death might strike him down. But 
his mother soon consoled him with the information that 
there was only one thing on earth that could harm him, and 
that the sun was not very likely to discover that one thing. 
So the young man recovered his gayety, and went about as 
full of sunshine as ever. 

One day, after he had forgotten all about the threat of the 

Sun's mother, he was out hunting. He felt very thirsty, 

and coming to a stream, he stooped down to drink from it. 

A crab that was in the stream came swimming up, and tore 

L out the prince's tongue. He was carried home in a dying 



42 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

" condition, and as he lay on his death-bed, the black woman 
appeared to him, and said: 

"The sun has found the one thing that could harm you. 
A like fate will overtake every one who assumes a title to 
which he has no right. " 
. So saying she closed his eyes in death. 

— "The Yellow Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

24.— THE STORY OF A LONG NOSE 

Prince Hyacinth owed his very long nose to a singular 
misfortune. Shortly before his birth, the king, his father, 
offended a great wizard. The enraged wizard punished the 
king in his son; for, when the child was born, he was found 
to have a nose that was out of all proportion with the rest 
of his body. To make matters worse, the wizard assured 
the old king that the child should keep his very strange 
member until he himself should find out that his nose was 
too long. 

As usually happens, that was a thing the prince seemed 
likely never to learn. If his own vanity had not hidden it 
from him, the flattery of his father's courtiers would cer- 
tainly have done so. They told him all sorts of dreadful 
stories about persons with small noses. They never men- 
tioned a great prince or princess without assuring him that 
he or she had a very long nose. They hung his room with 
pictures of persons whose length of nose made him feel jeal- 
ous. They talked so continually of the beauty of long 
noses, that they began to believe their own words, and to 
pull their own noses to make them of the length required 
for beauty. The prince did not need to pull his nose for it 
grew longer and longer of its own accord. 

The awakening, however, was at hand. When it was 
time for the prince to choose a wife he was shown the por- 






f 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 43 

traits of several eligible princesses. Strange to say, despite 
his peculiar training, he fell completely in love with a prin- 
cess who was noticeably short of nose. He thought it 
strange himself, and when the courtiers learned of his 
choice, they were hard put to it to explain away all that 
they had said so often against short noses. They finally 
agreed that a short nose was a most desirable thing for a 
woman, but that a long nose was the only one admissible 
in a man. 

The courtiers were a consolation to the long-nosed prince. 
But, when he went forth to claim his princess from her 
father, he soon learned that every one was not a courtier. 
In every town that he entered, he was the cause of a tre- 
mendous hubbub; and what was his surprise to find that the 
crowds did not gather to admire the extraordinary beauty of 
the man w r ith such a magnificently developed nose, but to 
laugh and jeer at him, and to make the most discouraging 
comments on the delight of his heart. 

The young man confided his chagrin to his fairy god- 
mother. Now this old lady was fully aware of her godson's 
defect, and had often tried to convince him of it, in order 
that the charm of the wizard might be broken, and the 
prince be relieved of his unsightly beak. Thus far, the 
young man's vanity had proved too much for her honesty. 
But now, the old lady saw her chance. 

When they drew near the kingdom of the chosen princess, 
the fairy shut the princess up in a palace of crystal, and set it 
down where the prince could not fail to see it. As soon as 
his eyes fell on the castle, he fell to work to free the princess 
from her prison; but in spite of all his efforts, he failed 
utterly. In despair, he tried at last to get near enough to 
speak to her. She stretched out her hand to him to kiss. 
Turn which way he might, he could not raise the hand to his 
Jips; for his long nose was always in the way. For the first 



44 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

f f time his vanity was convinced; and he realized that he had a 
\ fearful proboscis. He cried: 

I "Well, it must be admitted that my nose is too long." 
g f In an instant the crystal palace flew into a thousand 
splinters, and the little princess walked out, and offered him 
her hand. He seized it, and to his wonder, was able to raise 
it to his lips; for his nose had suddenly become like that of 
other men. While he was wondering at the change, the old 
fairy said to him: 

"I tried often enough to convince you of your ugliness. 
Self-love and vanity blind us to our defects of body and 
mind. We refuse to see them, till they get in the way of 
.our own interests." 

— "The Blue Fairy Book," by Andrew Lang. 

25.— RUMPELSTILTSKIN 

A miller, with an unfortunate talent for boasting, once 
told his king that his daughter could spin straw into gold. 
The king asked to see the girl, and when she was brought to 
him, led her into a room full of straw, and gave her the com- 
forting assurance that, unless she spun the straw into gold 
before the next morning, she would die. 

The miller's daughter sat down in the midst of the straw, 
and not having the least idea how to spin it into gold, began 
to cry. Suddenly the door opened, and a little man ap- 
peared. He asked, and learnt the reason of her tears. For 
the present of a necklace he promised to help her. Down at 
the wheel he sat, and, whir! whir! whir! the wheel went 
round three times, and the bobbin was full of gold thread. 
He put on another, and another bobbin, and by morning all 
the straw was spun into gold. 

When the king saw the gold, he was delighted, but like all 
greedy people, lusted the more after gold, and the next day 
again set the girl down in a room full of straw with the same 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 45 

comforting assurance he had given her the first day. Again 
the little man came to the help of the poor maiden. 
, A third day the king set the maiden to spin straw into 
gold, and this third time promised that, if she succeeded, he 
would marry her; if she failed, she was to die. Again the 
little man appeared to the weeping maiden. This time he 
would not help her until she had given her word that, if the 
king married her, she would yield up to him her first child. 
The girl, not knowing what might happen to prevent the 
fulfillment of such a promise, told the manikin that, if he 
spun the straw as before, she would give him on demand her 
first child. The manikin spun the straw. The king mar- 
ried the girl. 

When some years had passed a beautiful son was born to 
the maiden, and she really had forgotten the little man, until 
one day he stepped into her room, and demanded the baby. 
The girl was in a terrible state, and begged so hard for her 
child that at last the little man agreed to waive his right, if 
within three days she could guess his name. 

The queen pondered over the matter, and sent out mes- 
sengers all over the land to pick up all the names they could 
come across. At the end of the first day the manikin ap- 
peared, but the queen had not found out his name. Next 
day the messengers went out again, but when the little man 
appeared at evening, the queen was still unable to tell his 
name. 

Next day the messengers came in without any new names 
— all except one. He told the queen he had heard no new 
names among the inhabitants of her country, but that, while 
coming home, he had seen a little house with a fire in front 
of it, and round the fire sprang the most grotesque little 
man, hopping on one leg and singing: 

" To-day I brew, to-morrow I bake, 
And then the child away I take; 



46 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

For little deems my royal dame 
That Rumpelstiltskin is my name." 
The queen was delighted, and when the little man ap- 
peared, she- lost no time in telling him his name. He was 
enraged to think that he had been discovered. He screamed 
out, and in his fury, drove his right foot so far into the 
ground that it sank in up to his waist; then in a passion he 
seized the left foot with both hands, and tore himself in two. 
— Adapted from Andrew Lang, "The Blue Fairy Book." 

26.— WHY THE SEA IS SALT 

A poor farmer once made a trip to Dead Men's Hall, and 
purchased there a hand-mill. This mill was a real marvel; 
for the man who possessed it had only to command it, and it 
would grind out anything he ordered. One little pecu- 
liarity of the mill, however, was that, unless you knew 
how to stop it, as did the poor farmer who got it at Dead 
Men's Hall, it would never cease grinding after it once 
began. 

This characteristic of the mill one man learnt to his sor- 
row, and almost at the cost of his life. He was so anxious 
to own the mill that he paid the poor farmer a fat sum for 
it. He took it home, and commanded it to grind herrings 
and porridge. The mill began, and ground, and ground, and 
ground, until it had filled every pot and pan in the house. 
The man told it to stop, but it kept right on. It flooded the 
kitchen so high with porridge and herrings that the man had 
to flee into the parlor. Soon the parlor was neck-high with 
porridge and herrings, and the man had to run for his life 
into the open fields. But the flood of porridge and her- 
rings flowed over the fields, right at the man's heels, so that 
he had to run at the top of his speed to escape drowning in 
the pursuing tide of herrings and porridge. He rushed to 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 47 

the poor man, and begged him to take back the hand-mill, 
which the poor man very shrewdly refused to do, until he 
was given a sum of money as large as that which he had 
received for the mill. 

c When the poor man got back the mill, he used it to make 
himself rich; and the fame of his wealth and his mill went 
abroad. A skipper who heard of the mill resolved to be- 
come possessed of it, if it would make salt; for, thus, he would 
be saved the trouble of sailing far away to foreign lands for 
freights of salt. At first the owner would not hear of part- 
ing with the mill; but the skipper offered so big a price, 
and the owner was so sure that the skipper would bring it 
back in a hurry, that at length he gave it up. 

d When the skipper had gotten the mill on his back, he did 
not loiter long, for he was afraid that the owner might 
change his mind; so he rushed off, without asking how to 
stop the mill, when it commenced grinding. 

e f As soon as he had gotten out to sea, the skipper set the 
1 mill on deck, and said to it: 
I " Grind salt, and grind both quickly and well." 

f So the mill began to grind salt till it spouted out like 
water; and when the skipper had filled the ship, he wanted 
the mill to stop, but whichever way he turned it, and how 
much soever he tried, the mill went on grinding, and the 
heap of salt grew higher and higher until at last the ship 
sank. There lies the mill at the bottom of the sea, and still, 
day by day, it grinds on; and that is why the sea is salt. 
— Adapted from Andrew Lang, "The Blue Fairy Book." 

27.— THE TERRIBLE HEAD 

a Long time ago, somewhere a long way off, there dwelt 
three dreadful sisters, monstrous, ogreish women with 
golden wings, and claws of brass, and with serpents grow- 



48 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ing on their heads instead of hair. These women were so 
awful to look upon, that whoever saw them was turned at 
once into stone. Two of them could not be put to death; 
but the youngest, whose face was very beautiful, could be 
killed. 

Now in those days, there was a very wicked king, who 
was very much in love with a widowed princess, who lived 
in his dominions with her young son. He often asked the 
hand of this princess, but she as often refused saying that 
she lived now only for her boy. Thinking, therefore, that 
his chances would be better, if the boy were dead, and, 
being too much of a coward to kill him outright, the king 
sent the lad, unknown to his mother, to fetch the head of 
the youngest of these women, thinking that the boy would 
be killed by the sight of the ogress. 

A kind young man supplied the boy with shoes that en- 
abled him to fly through the air, and told him where he 
could get a cap which would make the wearer invisible, and 
a sword which would cleave iron at one blow. 

Equipped with these three things, the boy soon arrived 
at the river which runs all around the world. By the banks 
of that river, the boy found the three terrible women asleep 
beneath a poplar tree with the dead poplar leaves all around 
them. Their golden wings were folded, and their brass 
claws crossed, and two of them slept like birds, with their 
hideous heads beneath their wings; and the serpents in their 
hair writhed out from under their feathers of gold. But the 
youngest slept between her sisters, and lay on her back, 
with her beautiful, sad face turned to the sky; and, though 
she slept, her eyes were wide open. If the boy had looked 
on her face, he would have been changed into stone by the 
terror and pity of it, she was so awful; but he had contrived 
a plan for killing her without looking on her face. As soon 
as he caught sight of the three, from afar off, he took his 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



49 



shining shield from his shoulders, and held it up like a 
mirror, so that he saw the dreadful women reflected in it, 
and did not see the terrible heads themselves. Then he came 
nearer, till he was within a sword's stroke of the young- 
est; and he guessed where he should strike a back blow 
behind him. He drew the sword of sharpness, and struck 
once; and the terrible head was cut from the shoulders of 
the creature, and the blood leaped out, and struck him like 
a blow. He thrust the terrible head into a wallet, and flew 
away without looking behind. The two other sisters pur- 
sued; but as he wore his cap of darkness, they could not 
see him. 

He arrived home in an incredibly short time; and the 
first sight that met his eyes was his own mother, flying for 
her life from the wicked king who now wished to kill her, 
because he found that she would not marry him. For she 
suspected that the king was the cause of her son's disap- 
pearance, and could not help thinking that the king had 
killed him. So now she was running for her life, and the 
wicked king was following her, with a naked sword in his 
hand. She ran right into her son's arms. He had just time 
to step in front of her, when the king struck at him with his 
sword. The boy caught the blow on his shield, and cried 
to the king: 

"You sent me for the terrible head. Behold it!" 
He drew the head from his wallet, and when the king's 
eyes fell on it, instantly he was turned into stone, as he 
stood there, with his sword lifted for another blow. 

— Adapted from Andrew Lang, "The Blue Fairy Book." 



28.— THE VALUE OF A CAT 



a Dick Whittington was a poor outcast in London when the 
rich merchant, Mr. Fitzwarren, picked him up off the 



50 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

streets, and made him a scullion in his house. Dick had 
not been long in this service, when the time came around 
for one of his master's great ships to sail. It was the cus- 
tom of this merchant to let his servants venture some- 
thing, whenever one of his ships went on a voyage. So he 
called them in, and told them to give into the hands of the 
captain and factor whatever they might want to send for 
sale in the ports for which the ship was sailing. Whatever 
they sent would be carried free, and they would receive the 
whole profit. Poor Dick Whittington blushingly told the 
merchant he owned nothing but a cat which he kept to 
protect him from the rats that abounded in the garret 
where he slept. The merchant, strange as it seems, in- 
sisted that Whittington put his cat aboard. 

Some months later the ship, driven by storms out of her 
usual course, put ashore on a part of the coast of Barbary. 
The captain and factor were conducted to the palace of the 
king of the place, and set down at a royal feast. What 
was their surprise and disgust to see, as soon as the meal 
commenced, a horde of rats run out and carry off the food 
from the very plates of the diners! They inquired of some 
of the nobles about them, if this occurred regularly, and, 
being told that it did, they asked if it were not very offen- 
sive. It was offensive, the nobleman said, but they had 
been able to discover no means of deliverance from this 
pest of rats. 

When he heard this, the factor jumped for joy. He 
remembered poor Whittington and his cat, and told the 
king that they had a creature on board that would destroy 
all these vermin. The king called for this wonderful crea- 
ture, and the factor ran off to the ship after the cat. 

When he returned, they were just setting out a new 
course, and the rats were just coming out after the feast. 
The factor dropped the cat in the midst of the rodents, and 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 51 

in a thrice there was a slaughter of rats, such as the king of 
Barbary had never expected to see. He was so delighted 
that, on the instant, he agreed to buy the whole cargo of 
the strangers, and to pay them for the cat, ten times as 
much as the cargo was worth. A bargain was struck, and 
the Englishmen went away with a ship much lighter, but 
much more valuable than they came with. 

As soon as they got home to England, they hurried to 
tell their good fortune to their master. That honest man 
immediately called the scullion into his counting-house, 
whither the lad was afraid to enter because of his ragged 
appearance. When the master told him the price at which 
his cat had sold, the boy could not believe his good fortune. 
He thought his master had taken to mocking him, as some 
of the servants often did. But the master took him kindly 
by the hand, and assured him it was all true — that he, 
Dick Whittington, sometime scullion to Master Fitzwarren, 
merchant, was now one of the richest men in London. 

It took Dick Whittington some time to get used to his 
good fortune, but he proved himself worthy of it. He 
managed his wealth well, and added to it with the years. 
He served as Sheriff of London, and three times was Lord 
Mayor of the city. Before his death he was made Sir 
Richard Whittington by King Henry V. 

— Adapted from Andrew Lang, "The Blue Fairy Book." 

29.— SAINT FRANCIS AND THE BIRDS 

As Saint Francis and his companions were one day going 
on their way, he lifted up his eyes, and beheld some trees 
hard by the road, whereon sat a great company of birds, 
well-nigh without number; whereat Saint Francis marveled, 
and said to his companions: 

" Ye shall wait for me here upon the way, and I will go to 
.preach to my little sisters ; the birds/' 



52 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

And he went into the field, and began to preach to the 
birds that were on the ground; and immediately those that 
were on the trees flew down to him, and they all of them 
remained still and quiet together, until Saint Francis 
made an end of preaching; and not even then did they de- 
part, until he had given them his blessing. And, accord- 
ing to what Brother Masseo afterward related to Brother 
Jacques da Massa, Saint Francis went among them touch- 
ing them with his cloak, howbeit none moved from his 
place. 

The sermon that Saint Francis preached to them was 
after this fashion: 

"My little sisters, the birds, much bounden are ye unto 
God your Creator; and always, in every place, ought ye to 
praise Him; for that He hath given you liberty to fly about 
everywhere, and hath also given you double and triple rai- 
ment; moreover He preserved your seed in the ark of 
Noah, that your race might not perish out of the world. 
Still more are you beholden to Him, for the element of the 
air which He hath appointed for you. Beyond all this, ye 
sow not neither do you reap; and God feedeth you, and 
giveth you the streams for your drink, the mountains and 
the valleys for your refuge, and the high trees whereon to 
make your nests; and, because ye know not how to spin 
or sew, God clotheth you, you and your children; where- 
fore your Creator loveth you much, seeing that He hath 
bestowed on you so many benefits; and therefore, my little 
sisters, beware of the sin of ingratitude, and study always 
.to give praises unto God." 

When as Saint Francis spake these words unto them, 
those birds began all of them to open their beaks, and 
stretch their necks, and spread their wings, and reverently 
bent their heads down to the ground; and by their acts 
and by their songs endeavored to show that God had 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 53 

given them exceeding joy. And Saint Francis rejoiced 
with them, and was glad, and marveled much at so great 
a company of birds, and their most beautiful diversity, 
and their good heed and sweet friendliness; for the which 
cause he devoutly praised their Creator in them. At the 
last, having ended the preaching, Saint Francis made over 
them the sign of the cross, and gave them leave to go away; 
and thereby all the birds with wondrous singing rose up in 
the air; and, then, in the fashion of the cross that Saint 
Francis made over them, divided themselves into four 
parts; and the one part flew toward the East, and the 
other toward the West, and the other toward the South, 
and the fourth toward the North, and each flight went on 
its way singing wondrous songs; signifying thereby that 
even as Saint Francis, the standard-bearer of the Cross of 
Christ, had preached to them, and made over them the sign 
of the cross, after the pattern of which they separated 
themselves unto the four parts of the world; even so the 
preaching of the Cross of Christ, renewed by Saint Francis, 
would be carried by him and the brothers throughout all 
the world; the which brothers, after the fashion of birds, 
possessing nothing of their own in this world, commit their 
lives wholly unto the providence of God. 

— From the " Little Flowers of Saint Francis." 

30.— THE WOLF OF AGOBIO 

What time Saint Francis abode in the city of Agobio, 
there appeared in the country of Agobio an exceeding great 
wolf, terrible and fierce, the which not only devoured 
animals but also men, insomuch that all the city folk 
stood in great fear, sith oft-times he came near to the city, 
and all men, when they went out, arrayed them in arms as 
it were for battle, and yet withal they might not avail to 



54 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

defend them against him whensoe'er any chanced on him 
alone; for fear of this wolf they were come to such a pass 
that none durst go forth out of that place. 

For the which matter, Saint Francis, having pity on the 
people of that land, wished to go forth unto that wolf, 
albeit the townsfolk all gave counsel against it; and mak- 
ing the sign of the most holy cross he went forth from that 
place with his companions, putting all his trust in God. 
And the others misdoubting to go further, Saint Francis 
took the road to the place where the wolf lay. And lo! in 
the sight of many of the townsfolk that had come out to 
see this miracle, the said wolf made at Saint Francis with 
open mouth: and coming up to him, Saint Francis made 
over him the sign of the cross, and called to him, and be- 
spake him thus: 

"Come hither, brother wolf; I command thee in the 
name of Christ that thou do no harm, nor to me nor to any- 
one.^ 

O wondrous thing! When as Saint Francis had made the 
sign of the cross, right so the terrible wolf shut his jaws 
and stayed his running: and when he was bid, came gently 
as a lamb, and lay him down at the feet of Saint Francis. 
Thereat Saint Francis thus bespake him: 

"Brother wolf, much harm hast thou wrought in these 
parts; for the which cause thou art deserving of the gibbet. 
I But I would fain make peace between thee and these/ ' 

At these words the wolf, with movements of body, tail 
and eyes and by the bending of his head, gave sign of his 
assent to what Saint Francis said and of his will to abide 
thereby. At that Saint Francis promised the wolf that he 
would see to it that the folk of that place would give him 
food as long as he should live. But Saint Francis willed 
that the wolf should plight his troth for his promise, that he 
might trust him well, And Saint Francis, stretching forth 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 55 

his hand to take pledge of his troth, the wolf lifted up his 
right paw before him, and laid it gently on the hand of 
Saint Francis, giving thereby such sign of good faith as he 
was able. 

And thereafter this same wolf lived two years in Agobio; 
and went like a tame beast in and out of the houses, from 
door to door, without doing hurt to any or any doing hurt 
to him, and was courteously nourished by the people; and 
as he passed thuswise through the country and the houses, 
never did any dog bark behind him. At length, after a 
two year's space, brother wolf died of old age; whereat the 
townsfolk sorely grieved, sith marking him pass so gently 
through the city, they minded them the better of the 
virtue and sanctity of Saint Francis. 

— From the " Little Flowers of Saint Francis." 

31.— ST. ANTONY AND THE FISHES 

The blessed Christ, desiring to set forth the great sanc- 
tity of His servant, Saint Antony, with what devotion men 
should give ear unto his preaching and his holy doctrine, 
once on a time, amongst others, reproved the folly of the 
infidel heretics by means of the animals that have no rea- 
son, to wit, the fishes, even as in the Old Testament he had 
reproved the ignorance of Balaam by the mouth of the ass. 
Wherefore on a day Saint Antony being in Rimini, where 
was great company of heretics, desiring to bring them back 
to the light of the true faith and to the path of virtue, 
preached unto them for many days, and disputed of Christ 
and of the Holy Scripture : but they not only gave no con- 
sent unto his holy words, but therewithal, as men hard- 
ened and stiff-necked, would give no ear to him. Inspired 
of God, Saint Antony went one day to the river-side hard 
^by the sea; and standing thus upon the bank betwixt the 



56 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

river and the sea, began to speak after the manner of a 
preacher sent by God unto the fishes: 

"Hear the word of God, O ye fishes of the sea and of the 
driver, since the infidel heretics refuse to hear it." 

When he had thus spoken, forthwith there came unto him 
to the bank a multitude of fishes, great and small, and what 
between, that never in that sea nor in that river had been 
seen so great a multitude; and they all held up their heads 
above the water, and all stood attentive toward the face of 
Saint Antony, one and all in much great peace and gentle- 
ness and order; for in front and more anigh the bank stood 
the smaller fish, and behind them fish of middle size; further 
behind, where deeper water was, the greater fishes stood. 

Therewith the fishes being thuswise set in order and 
array, Saint Antony began solemnly to preach to them of 
the kindness of God unto them. And the more Saint 
Antony preached, the more did the multitude of the fish 
increase, and no one of them left the place that he had 
taken. At the which miracle the people of the city began 
to run together, and among them the heretics aforesaid 
also drew nigh: the which beholding the miracle so mar- 
velous and so clear, touched to the heart, fell at the feet of 
Saint Antony to hear his words. 

Thereat Saint Antony began to preach of the Catholic 
faith; and so nobly did he preach that all those heretics 
were converted, and turned them to the faith of Christ; 
and all the faithful abode in joy exceeding great, being 
comforted and strengthened in the faith. And this done, 
Saint Antony bade the fishes depart with the blessing of 
God; and all went thence with marvelous signs of joy, and 
likewise the people also. And thereafter Saint Antony 
abode in Rimini many days, preaching and reaping much 
spiritual fruit of souls. 

— From the " Little Flowers of Saint Francis." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 57 

32.— SIR RODOLPH OF HAPSBURG 

Sir Rodolph of Hapsburg rode at the head of his band of 
hunters, his bugle ringing out sharp and clear in the frosty 
air, causing the wild deer to bound over the rocky heights 
and hide themselves in the snowy Alpine forests. He was 
a brave young knight, as gay and glad as a child when en- 
gaged in the mountain chase, yet wise in council, and earn- 
est and reverent in prayer. There was not a stain upon 
his name; his sword had never given a needless wound, 
though it had fought for many a one who was oppressed. 
Swiftly he rode, so swiftly that all his train was left behind, 
excepting one page, and Sir Rodolph raised his bugle once 
more to call the loiterers onward. 

But a soft silvery sound was borne upward upon the 
frosty air, a sound which caused the knight to dismount in 
haste and kneel humbly on the ground with uncovered 
head. The lord of the mountain was bowing before the 
Lord of heaven who was being borne by an aged priest to 
the plain below in the Blessed Sacrament which was to 
console and help a soul near death. 

The priest paused near the count, who whispered in low 
accents: 

"My reverend Father, for the dear sake of Him whom 
thou dost bear upon thy breast, take my steed for His 
service and permit my page and me to follow Him." 

"Nay, Sir Knight/' replied the old priest, "how can this 
be, for already I can discern thy train of huntsmen advanc- 
ing to follow thee in the chase ?" 

"Father, to-day my men must hunt alone, for, in truth, 
it would be a foul disgrace if I rode on while thou on foot 
shouldst bear my Lord and King. God forbid that I should 
.. not follow Him who died on the cross for me." 

The priest mounted the noble steed, while at his side, 



58 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

rein in hand, Sir Rodolph walked with bent head and 
reverent step. They went their way down the rocky path 
to the plain below. The dying man received the body and 
blood of Christ, and then the little company ascended the 
hill once more. 

As they entered the narrow mountain pass, the ancient 
priest would have restored the steed, but the knight 
checked him: 

"Nay, Father, I cannot again mount the steed which has 
borne my Lord: he has been a faithful friend to me, may 
he be the same to thee in thy journeyings. Farewell, my 
Father, yonder pathway will take thee quickly homeward, 
and I beg thee to remember my poor soul in thy prayers at 
I Holy Mass." 

The priest raised iiis hand in benediction over the noble 
knight, and then, gazing earnestly into his face, added: 

"When nine years have passed away, the Master, whom 
thou lovest, and who loveth thee, will reward the services 
.thou hast rendered Him to-day." 

The nine years rolled by; that brave young chief of 
Hapsburg had grown into a stalwart knight, nor had he 
disappointed the promise of his early years, for he was first 
in name and rank among all Christian peers: and now the 
throne was vacant and serfs and nobles with one accord 
bent low before Sir Rodolph, and chose him as their king. 
The promise that the priest had made was fulfilled. 

— Anonymous. 

33.— THE MUSIC OF HEAVEN 

Upon one occasion, when Dr. Grant, first Catholic Bishop 
of Southwark, was visiting a school, one of the children, 
with that fearless familiarity which it was his delight to 
foster, called out: 

"But, Bishop, will it be always the same thing in heaven 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 59 

af — always music, and light, and angels? Shan't we ever get 
L tired of it?" 

b The Good Bishop called the little skeptic to him and set 
himself to answer her puzzle by telling her the legend of a 
monk to whom the same question had once occurred. 

c It was on a warm summer's day. The monk was work- 
ing in a field near the monastery. The sun was hot, and he 
was digging; his spirit flagged with his body, and he be- 
thought himself, perhaps, after all, Paradise was not worth 
the toil and trouble it cost him. 

d Suddenly he was roused by the singing of a bird in a tree 
close by. The notes were so sweet, so brilliant, so unlike 
any song of bird or human voice he had ever heard before 
that they thrilled to his very soul. He dropped his spade, 
and walked toward the tree where the bird perched, but, 
as he drew near, it fluttered away, singing as it went. Its 
songs grew richer and more beautiful at every gush. The 
monk, like one drawn by a spell, followed the warbler from 
tree to tree, till at last the melody ceased, and he found 
himself in the heart of the forest, a great way from home. 
The sun had gone down, and he wandered about looking in 
vain for the path he had come by. Emerging from the 
darkness of the wood, after a long ramble he came in sight 
of the monastery. 

But what had befallen it within an hour? The gate was 
crowned with ivy; and lichens and mosses were draped all 
over the walls. He rang the bell; it was a strange face that 
answered his summons. The brother looked at him in 
amazement. Who was he and whence did he come? He 
gave his name, but the porter grew white with fear, and, 
crossing himself, exclaimed: 

"Thou art his ghost, then, for the monk who bore that 
.name has been dead nearly a hundred years!" 

"Nearly a hundred years! Have I been all that time 



60 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

listening to the song of a bird, and found it so sweet that it 
seemed to me scarcely an hour?" 

And the wanderer knew that his doubt had been heard 
Un Paradise, and answered by the song of the bird. 

— Anonymous. 

34.— ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON 

Saint George was a soldier, and once, while traveling to 
join his legion, he came to a certain city in Libya called 
Selene. The inhabitants of this city were in great trouble and 
consternation in consequence of the ravages of a monster 
dragon, which issued from a neighboring lake or marsh, and 
devoured the flocks and herds of the people, who had taken 
refuge within the walls; and to prevent him from approach- 
ing the city, the air of which was poisoned by his breath, 
they offered him daily two sheep; and when the sheep were 
exhausted, they were forced to sacrifice to him daily two of 
their children to save the rest. The children were taken 
by lot, and the whole city was filled with mourning, with 
the lamentations of bereaved parents and the cries of the 
innocent victims. 

Now the king of this city had one daughter, exceedingly 
fair, and her name was Cleodolinde. After some time the 
lot fell upon her, and the monarch, in his despair, offered all 
his gold and treasures and even the half of his kingdom to 
redeem her; but the people murmured, saying: 

"Is this just, O King; that thou, by thine own edict, hast 
made us desolate, and, behold, now thou wouldst withhold 
thine own child?" 

And they waxed more and more wroth, and they threat- 
ened to burn him up in his palace unless the princess was 
delivered up. Then the king submitted, asking only for a 
k delay of eight days to bewail her fate. This was granted, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 61 

and at the end of eight days the princess, clothed in her royal 
robes, was led forth as a victim to sacrifice. She fell at her 
father's feet, and asked his blessing, saying that she was 
ready to die for her people. Then amid tears and lamenta- 
, tions, she was put forth, and the gates shut upon her. 

Slowly she walked toward the dwelling of the dragon, 
the path being drearily strewn with the bones of former 
victims, and she wept as she went on her way. Now, at 
this time, Saint George was passing by on his good steed, 
and, being moved to see so beautiful a virgin in tears, he 
paused to ask her why she wept, and she told him. And 
he said: 

"Fear not, for I will deliver thee." 

"0 noble youth," she replied, "tarry not here, lest you 
.perish with me! But fly, I beseech you." 

But Saint George would not; and he said: 

"God forbid that I should fly! I will lift my hand 
against this loathly thing, and will deliver thee through the 
w power of Jesus Christ." 
e At that moment the monster was seen emerging from 
his lair and half-crawling, half-flying toward them. The 
princess trembled exceedingly, and cried out to the knight 
to flee. But he answered not; only made the sign of the 
cross, and calling on the name of the Redeemer, he spurred 
toward the dragon, and after a terrible and prolonged 
combat, he pinned him to the ground with his lance. 
f Then he desired the princess to bring her girdle; and he 
bound the dragon fast, and gave the girdle to her hand, and 
the subdued monster crawled after them like a dog. 

In this guise they approached the city. The people being 
greatly terrified, Saint George called out to them, saying: 

"Fear nothing; only believe in the God through whose 
might I have conquered this adversary, and be baptized, 
.and I will destroy him before your eyes." 



62 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

So the king and the people believed, and were baptized — 
twenty thousand people in one day. Then Saint George 
slew the dragon, and cut off his head; and the king be- 
stowed great rewards and treasures on the victorious 
knight; but he distributed them all to the poor, and kept 
nothing, and went on his way. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 

35.— ST. CHRISTOPHER 

Christopher, whose original name was Offero, was a man 
of colossal stature and of terrible aspect, and, being proud 
of his vast bulk and strength, he was resolved that he would 
serve no other than the greatest and the most powerful 
monarch that existed. His first master was said to excel 
in power and riches all the monarchs of the earth, but Chris- 
topher did not serve him long. For, one day, a minstrel, 
singing before the king, often mentioned the devil, and, 
every time he did, the king seemed frightened, and crossed 
himself. Christopher, thereupon, boldly asked him why 
he did this. The king confessed that he made that sign 
to preserve himself from the power of Satan. Christopher 
concluded that there must exist a king greater than he 
whom he was serving, and abandoning his first master's 
court, set out to discover the greater king. 

He traveled far and wide, and as he crossed a desert 
plain, he beheld a great crowd of armed men, and at their 
head marched a terrible and frightful being with the air of 
a conqueror. This, he found out, was Satan, and he joined 
his wild army. But as they journeyed along, they came 
to a cross by the wayside. When the Evil One saw the 
cross, he was seized with trembling, and made a circuit to 
avoid it. Then Christopher learned that the devil himself 
was afraid of Jesus Christ who had died on a cross. Chris- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



63 



f 



topher concluded that Christ was more powerful than 
Satan, and set out to find and serve this greater king. 

He came to a hermit, and desired of him that he would 
show him Christ. The hermit told the giant that to serve 
Christ he must fast. This the giant refused to do because 
thus he would lose his strength. He likewise refused to 
pray, because he knew nothing of prayer. The hermit 
saw he must win this wild fellow slowly, so he said to him : 

"Knowest thou a certain river, stony and wide and deep, 
and often swelled by the rains, and wherein many people 
perish who attempt to cross over?" 

The giant answered that he did. The hermit sent him 
to the river, saying: 

"Use thy strength to aid and save those who struggle 
with the stream and those who are about to perish. It 
. may be that this work may prove acceptable to Christ." 

So the giant went to the river, and rooting up a palm 
tree from the forest, used it for a staff to support and guide 
his steps, and he aided those who were about to sink, and 
the weak he carried on his shoulders across the stream; 
and by day and night he was always ready for his task, and 
failed not, and was never wearied of helping those who 
needed assistance. 

When Christopher had spent many days in this toil, it 
came to pass one night, as he rested himself in his hut of 
boughs, he heard a feeble childish voice calling him from 
the bank of the river. Near the river's edge he found a 
child who entreated him to carry him over. The giant 
lifted the child on his shouders, and took his staff, and en- 
tered the stream. The infant on his shoulders became 
heavier and still heavier, till it seemed to him he must sink 
under the excessive weight, and he began to fear; but 
nevertheless, taking courage, he stayed his tottering steps 
with his palm-staff, and at length reached the opposite 



64 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



bank. When he had laid down the child, safely and gen- 
tly, he looked at him and said: 

"Who art thou? Had I carried the whole world, the 
burden had not been heavier!" 

" Wonder not, Christopher," said the child, "for thou hast 
I not only borne the world, but Him who made the world." 
And Christopher fell on his face, and adored, and when 
he looked up, the child had vanished. But a great change 
had been wrought in the heart of the giant, and from that 
moment he served God, not as he himself willed, but as 
Jesus had commanded. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 



36.— THE LEGEND OF ST. CATHARINE 



According to the legend, St. Catharine was daughter of 
the king of Egypt and the most learned princess of her day. 
At that time the tyrant Maximin greatly persecuted the 
Church, and being come to Alexandria, he gathered all the 
Christians together, and commanded them, on pain of the 
severest torments, to worship the heathen gods. St. Cath- 
arine, hearing in the recesses of her palace the cries of the 
people, sallied forth, and confronted the tyrant on the 
steps of the temple, pleading for her fellow-Christians, and 
demonstrating by the force of her reasoning the truth of the 
Christian, and the falsehood of the Pagan religion. 

Maximin, being confounded by her arguments and yet 
more by her eloquence, which left him without a reply, 
ordered that fifty of the most learned philosophers and 
rhetoricians should be collected from all parts of his em- 
pire, and he promised them exceeding great rewards, if 
they overcame the Christian princess in argument. These 
.philosophers were at first indignant at being assembled 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



65 



" for such a trivial purpose, esteeming nothing so easy; and 
they said: 

" Place her, O Caesar, before us, that her folly and rash- 
ly ness may be exposed to all the people." 

But Catharine, nowise afraid, recommended herself to 
God, praying that He would not allow the cause of truth to 
suffer through her feebleness and insufficiency. And she 
disputed with all these sages and orators, quoting against 
them the law and the Prophets, the works of Plato and the 
books of the Sibyls, until they were utterly confounded, 
one after another, and struck dumb by her superior learn- 
ing. In the end they confessed themselves vanquished and 
converted to the faith of Christ. The emperor, enraged, 
ordered them to be consumed by fire: and they went to 
death willingly, only regretting that they had not been 
baptized; but Catharine said to them: 

"Go, be of good courage, for your blood shall be ac- 
counted to you as a baptism, and the flames as a crown of 
glory." 

And she did not cease to exhort and comfort them till 
.they had all perished in the flames. 

Catharine herself was cast into a dungeon, and on the 
return of Maximin from the East, he discovered that the 
Christian virgin had converted to Christ his empress and 
many of his courtiers, whom he had left in Alexandria. 
Enraged, he ordered Catharine to be cut to pieces on the 
wheel, but the angel of God broke the wheel into pieces, 
and freed Catharine, killing the executioners. Then the 
virgin was carried without the city where she was beaten 
with rods, and afterwards beheaded. And when she was 
dead angels took up her body, and carried it over the 
Desert and over the Red Sea, till they deposited it on the 
summit of Mount Sinai. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary Art." 



66 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



37.— ST. SYLVESTER AND CONSTANTINE ' 

Sylvester was born at Rome of virtuous parents; and at 
the time, when Constantine was still in the darkness of 
paganism and persecuted the Christians, Sylvester, who had 
been elected bishop of Rome, fled from the persecution, and 
dwelt for some time in a cavern near the summit of Mount 
Calvo. While he lay concealed there, the Emperor was 
attacked by a horrid leprosy, and, having called to him 
the priests of his false gods, was advised by them that he 
should bathe himself in a bath of children's blood, and 
three thousand children were collected for this purpose. 
As he proceeded in his chariot to the place where the bath 
was to be prepared, the mothers of these children threw 
themselves in his way with disheveled hair, weeping and 
crying aloud for mercy. Then Constantine was moved to 
tears, and he said to his nobles and those who attended 
him: 

"Far better is it that I should die than cause the death 
of these innocents/ ' 

Then he commanded that the children should be restored 
to their mothers with great gifts, in recompense for what 
they had suffered; so they went away full of joy and grati- 
tude, and the emperor returned to his palace. 

On that same night, as he lay asleep, St. Peter and St. 
Paul appeared to him at his bedside, and they stretched 
their hands over him, and they said: 

"Because thou hast feared to spill the innocent blood of 
the infants, Jesus Christ has sent us to bring thee good 
counsel. Send to Sylvester who lies hidden among the 
mountains, and he will show thee the pool, in which having 
washed three times, thou shalt be clean of thy leprosy; 
and henceforth thou shalt adore the God of the Christians, 
. and thou shalt cease from persecuting and oppressing them. " 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 67 

Constantine sent his soldiers in search of Sylvester. 
When they took the holy pope, he supposed that it was to 
lead him to death; nevertheless he went cheerfully: and, 
when he appeared before the Emperor, Constantine arose, 
and saluted him, and said: 

"I would know who were those two gods who appeared 
.to me in the visions of the night/ ' 
e Sylvester replied that they were not gods but the apos- 
tles of Jesus Christ. Constantine desired that he would show 
him the effigies of these two apostles, and Sylvester sent 
for the pictures of St. Peter and St. Paul which were in the 
possession of certain pious Christians. Constantine having 
beheld them saw that they were the same men whom he 
had seen in his dream. He submitted himself to the in- 
struction of Sylvester, and was baptized, coming out of the 
font cured of his leprosy. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 

38.— THE CLOAK OF ST. MARTIN 

a St. Martin was born in the reign of Constantine in 
Saberia, a city of Pannonia. He was the son of a Roman 
soldier, a tribune in the army, and his parents were 
heathens. He himself, however, even when a child, was 
touched with the truth of the Christian religion, and was 
received as a catechumen at the age of fifteen; but before 
he could be baptized, he was enrolled in the cavalry, and 
sent to Gaul. Notwithstanding his extreme youth and the 
license of his profession, St. Martin was a striking example 
that the gentler virtues of a Christian were not incompat- 
ible with the duties of a valiant soldier, and for his hu- 
mility, his mildness of temper, his sobriety, chastity, and, 
above all, his boundless charity, he excited at once the 
admiration and the love of his comrades, 



68 



TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 



The legion in which Martin served was quartered at 
Amiens in the year 332, and the winter of that year was of 
such unusual severity that men died in the streets from the 
excessive cold. It happened one day that Martin, on 
going out of the gate of the city, was met by a poor naked 
beggar, shivering with the cold, and he felt compassion for 
the unfortunate man, and having nothing else to give him, 
he divided his cloak in twain with his sword, and gave one 
half of it to the beggar, covering himself as well as he might 
with the other half. 

That same night he beheld in a dream the Lord Jesus 
Christ who stood before him, having on his shoulders the 
half of the cloak which Martin had bestowed on the beggar; 
and Jesus said to the angels who were around him: 

"Know ye who hath thus arrayed me? My servant 
L Martin, though yet unbaptized, hath done this." 

And St. Martin, after this vision, hastened to receive 
baptism, being then in his twenty-third year. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 



39.— THE THEBAN LEGION 

Among the legions which composed the Roman army, 
in the time of Diocletian and Maximin, was one styled the 
Theban Legion because levied originally in the Thebaid. 
The number of soldiers composing this corps was six thou- 
sand, six hundred and sixty-six, and all were Christians, as 
remarkable for their valor and discipline as for their 
piety and fidelity. This legion had obtained the title of 
" Happy"; it was commanded by an excellent Christian 
officer, whose name was Maurice or Mauritius. 

About the year 286 Maximin summoned the Theban 
Legion from the East to reinforce the army with which he 
was about to march into Gaul. The passage of the Alps 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 69 

being effected, some companies of the Theban Legion were 
despatched to the Rhine; the rest of the army rested on 
the banks of the Lake of Geneva, where Maximin ordered 
a great sacrifice to the gods, accompanied by the games 
and ceremonies usual on such occasions. But Maurice and 
his soldiers withdrew from these idolatrous rites, and re- 
tiring to a distance of about three leagues, they pitched 
their camp at a place now called Saint-Maurice. Maximin 
insisted on obedience to his commands, at the same time 
making it known that the service for which he had re- 
quired aid of the legions was to extirpate the Christians 
whose destruction he had vowed. 

The Theban Legion with one voice refused either to join 
in the idolatrous sacrifice or to march against their fellow- 
Christians. Thereupon the emperor ordered the soldiers 
of their legion to be decimated. Those, upon whom the 
lot fell, rejoiced as if they had been elected to a great 
honor; and their companions, who seemed less to fear than 
to emulate their fate, repeated their protest, and were a 
second time decimated. Their officers encouraged them 
to perish, and, when summoned a third time, Maurice, in 
the name of his soldiers refused a third time. 

"0 Caesar," he said to the emperor, "we are thy sol- 
diers, but we are also the soldiers of Jesus Christ. From 
thee we receive our pay, but from Him we have received 
eternal life. To thee we owe service, to Him obedience. 
We are ready to follow thee against the barbarians, but we 
are also ready to suffer death, rather than renounce our 
faith or fight against our brethren." 

Thus he spoke, with the mild courage becoming the 
Christian warrior; but the cruel tyrant, unmoved by such 
generous heroism, ordered that the rest of the army should 
hem round the devoted legion, and that a general massacre 
should take place, leaving not one alive; and he was 



70 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

obeyed. If he expected resistance, he found it not, neither 
in the victims nor in the executioners. The Christian war- 
riors flung away their arms, and in emulation of their 
Divine Master, resigned themselves as " sheep to the 
slaughter/ ' Some were trampled under the hoofs of the 
cavalry; some were hung on trees, and shot with arrows; 
some were killed with the sword; Maurice and others of 
the officers knelt down, and in this attitude their heads were 
struck off: thus they all perished. 

Other companies of the same Theban Legion, under the 
command of Gereon, reached Cologne on the Rhine, where 
the prefect Varus by order of the emperor, required them 
either to forsake their faith or to suffer death. Gereon and 
fifty of his companions were accordingly put to death in one 
day, and their bodies thrown into a pit. Besides so many 
others of the same legion suffered martyrdom that it is 
known in the annals of the Church as the glorious Theban 
Legion. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 

40.— HOW ST. MARK SAVED VENICE 

On the 25th of February, 1340, there fell out a wonder- 
ful thing in the city of Venice; for during three days the 
waters all about and through the city rose continually and 
in the night there was fearful rain and tempest. So great 
was the storm that the waters rose three cubits higher than 
had ever been known in Venice; and an old fisherman, 
being in his little boat in the canal of St. Mark, reached 
with difficulty the Riva di San Marco, and there he fastened 
his boat, and waited the ceasing of the storm. And it is 
related that, at the time the storm was at its highest, there 
.came an unknown man, and besought the old fisherman 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 71 

' that he would row him over to San Giorgio Maggiore, prom- 
ising to pay him well; and the fisherman replied: 

"How is it possible to go to San Giorgio? We shall sink 
by the way!" 

But the man only besought him the more that he should 
set forth. 

So seeing that it was the will of God, he arose and rowed 
over to San Giorgio; and the man landed there and desired 
the boatman to wait. In a short time he returned with a 
young man, and desired the boatman to row them toward 
San Nicolo di Lido. The fisherman hesitated, but they 
told him to row boldly for his pay would be great. He 
went, and it seemed to him as if the waters were smooth. 

Being arrived at San Nicolo, the two men landed, and 
returned with a third, and entering the boat, they com- 
manded the fisherman that he should row toward the open 
sea beyond the two castles. The tempest raged furiously, 
but the fisherman made head against it. 

Being come to the open sea, they beheld approaching with 
such terrific speed, that it seemed to fly over the waters, an 
enormous galley full of demons. This bark approached the 
castles to overwhelm Venice and destroy it utterly. Anon 
the sea, which had hitherto been tumultuous, became calm 
and these three men, making the sign of the cross, exor- 
cised the devils, and commanded them to depart, and im- 
mediately the ship vanished. 

Then these three men commanded the fisherman to land 
them, the one at San Nicolo di Lido, the other at San Gior- 
gio Maggiore, and the third at San Marco. And when he 
had landed the third, the fisherman, notwithstanding the 
miracle which he had witnessed, desired that his passenger 
would pay him; and his passenger replied: 

"Thou art right; go now to the Doge and the Procura- 
. tore of St. Mark, and tell them what thou hast seen, for 



72 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



" Venice would have been overwhelmed, had it not been for 
us three. I am St. Mark, the protector of this city; the 
other is the brave knight St. George; and he whom thou 
didst take up at the Lido is the holy bishop St. Nicholas. 
Say to the Doge and the Procuratore that they are to pay 
you; and tell them likewise that this tempest arose be- 
cause of a certain schoolmaster living at San Felice, 
who did sell his soul to the devil, and afterward hanged 
himself." 

The fisherman replied that, if he were to tell this story 
to the Doge and the Procuratore, they would not believe 
him. To that St. Mark replied by taking off a ring w T hich 
was on his finger, which ring was worth five ducats; and he 
said: 

"Show them this, and tell them, when they look in the 
sanctuary, they shall not find it." 

And thereupon he disappeared. 

The next morning, the fisherman presented himself before 
the Doge, and related all he had seen the night before, and 
showed him the ring for a sign. The Procuratore sent to 
the sanctuary of St. Mark's for the ring, but did not find it in 
the usual place; by reason of which miracle the fisherman 
was paid, and a solemn procession was ordained, giving 
thanks to God and to the three holy saints who protected 
Venice. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 



41.— SANTIAGO 

In the year of our Lord 939, King Ramirez vowed to 

deliver Castile from the shameful tribute, imposed by 

the Moors, of one hundred virgins delivered annually, and 

therefore, collected his troops, and defied their king Abdel- 

.raman to battle: 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 73 

w 'The king called God to witness that came there weal or 
woe, 
Thenceforth no maiden tribute from out Castile should go. 
'At least I will do battle on God our Saviour's foe, 
And die beneath my banner before I see it go!'" 
Accordingly he charged the Moorish host on the plain 
of Alveida or Clavijo. After a furious conflict the Chris- 
tians were by the permission of heaven defeated, and 
forced to retire. Night separated the combatants, and 
King Ramirez, overpowered with fatigue and sad at heart, 
flung himself upon his couch, and slept. In his sleep he 
beheld the apostle St. Jago or James, who promised to be 
with him next morning in the field, and assured him of 
victory. 

The king, waking up from this glorious vision, sent for 
his prelates and officers, to whom he related it; and the 
next morning, at the head of his army, he recounted it to 
his soldiers, bidding them rely on his heavenly aid. He 
then ordered the trumpets to sound to battle. The sol- 
diers, inspired with fresh courage, rushed to the field. 
Suddenly St. Jago was seen mounted on a milk-white 
charger, and waving aloft a white standard, he led on the 
Christians, who gained a decided victory, leaving sixty 
thousand Moors dead on the field. This was the famous 
battle of Clavijo; and ever since that day, " Santiago!" has 
been the war-cry of the Spanish armies. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art." 

42.— THEODOSIUS AND AMBROSE 

The Roman Emperor, Theodosius, with all his great 
qualities, was subject to fits of violent passion. A sedition 
or rather a popular affray had taken place at Thessalonica; 
one of his officers was ill-treated, and some lives lost. 



74 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Theodosius, in the first moment of indignation, ordered an 
indiscriminate massacre of the inhabitants, and seven 
thousand human beings — men, women and children- 
were sacrificed. 

The conduct of Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, on this occa- 
sion was worthy of a Christian prelate. He retired from 
the presence of the emperor, and wrote to him a letter in 
which, in the name of Christ, of his Church, and of all the 
bishops over whom he had any influence, he denounced this 
inhuman act with the strongest expressions of abhorrence, 
and refused to allow the sovereign, thus stained with inno- 
cent blood, to participate in the sacraments of the Church; — 
in fact excommunicated him. In vain the emperor threat- 
ened, supplicated; in vain he appeared before the doors of 
the Cathedral of Milan, and commanded, and entreated 
entrance. The doors were closed; and even on Christmas 
Day, when he again presented himself as a suppliant, Am- 
brose appeared at the porch, and absolutely forbade his 
entrance, unless he should choose to pass into the sanctuary 
over his dead body. 

At length, after eight months of interdict, Ambrose con- 
sented to relent, on two conditions: the first, that the em- 
peror should publish an edict by which no capital punish- 
ment could be inflicted till thirty days after the conviction 
of a crime; the second, that he should perform a public 
penance. The emperor submitted; and clothed in sack- 
cloth, groveling on the earth, with dust and ashes on his 
head, lay the master of the world before the altar of Christ 
because of the innocent blood hastily and wrongfully shed. 
This was a great triumph, and one of incalculable benefit 
to all men. 

— Adapted from Anna B. Jameson, " Sacred and Legendary 
Art," 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 75 

43.— THE LEGEND OF ST. OGG 

Ogg, the son of Beorl, was a boatman who gained a 
scanty living by ferrying passengers across the Floss. And 
it came to pass one evening, when the winds were high, that 
there sat moaning by the bank of the river a woman with a 
child in her arms; and she was clad in rags, and had a worn 
and withered look, and she craved to be rowed across the 
river. And the men thereabout questioned her, and said: 

"Wherefore dost thou desire to cross the river? Tarry 
till the morning, and take shelter here for the night: so thou 
shalt be wise and not foolish." 

Still she went on to moan and crave. But Ogg, the son 
of Beorl, came up, and said: 

"I will ferry thee across: it is enough that thy heart 
needs it." 

And he ferried her across. 

And it came to pass, when she stepped ashore, that her 
rags were turned into robes of flowing white, and her face 
became bright with exceeding beauty, and there was a 
glory around it, so that she shed a light on the water like the 
moon in its brightness. And she said: 

"Ogg, son of Beorl, thou art blessed in that thou didst 
not question, and wrangle with the heart's need, but wast 
smitten with pity, and didst straightway relieve the same. 
And from henceforth whoso steps into thy boat shall be in 
no peril from the storm; and whenever it puts forth to the 
.rescue, it shall save the lives of both men and beasts.' 7 

And when the floods came, many were saved by reason 
of that blessing on the boat. But when Ogg, the son of 
Beorl, died, behold, in the parting of his soul, the boat 
loosed itself from its moorings, and was floated with the 
ebbing tide in great swiftness to the ocean, and was seen no 
more. Yet it was witnessed in the floods of aftertime, that, 



76 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

at the coming of the eventide, Ogg, the son of Beorl, was 
always seen with his boat upon the wide-spreading waters, 
and the Blessed Virgin sat in the prow, shedding a light 
around as of the moon in its brightness, so that the rowers 
in the gathering darkness took heart, and pulled anew. 

—George Eliot, "Mill on the Floss." 

44.— ALBERTUS MAGNUS 

Albert de Groot was the name of a little student from 
Saxony who attended the University of Padua in the 
thirteenth century. He studied hard, and he studied faith- 
fully, but the only degree he received was that of "the 
ass" which the students soon conferred on him. The poor 
little fellow was humble, but the harshness of his fellow- 
students cut him to the quick, and, in the moments, when 
he felt sad and lonely in a city so far from friends and home, 
his only consoler was the Blessed Virgin. Before her altar 
he found hope, and doubtless from her received the idea, 
dullard though he was, of entering the Order of St. Dominic. 
It was certainly a strange vocation for the little "ass" of 
Padua — that of entering among the brilliant sons of St. 
Dominic, and it was stranger that he should have been 
admitted. But God has His ways. 

He passed through his novitiate noted for two things, 
dullness and piety. He took his vows, and began his 
studies, but his slowness of comprehension discouraged 
himself and his professors. Then came his hour of tempta- 
tion: he would depart from the holy house, where he 
would never be anything but a burden, and hide himself off 
in the wilderness where he could serve God as a hermit and 
without this troublesome knowledge. Again and again the 
temptation assailed him. He fixed the day on which he 
would leave tEe" monastery. He made a novena to the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 77 

Virgin, and begged of her grace to see God's will, but he 
remained in darkness. 

On the appointed day he said nothing to any of the 
monks about his resolution, only prayed more fervently to 
the Blessed Virgin. He waited till all in the convent were 
asleep. Then he left his cell, and reaching the convent 
walls, he noiselessly placed a ladder against them. He 
knelt for the last time to pray God not to be offended with 
him for the step which he was about to take. He was 
rising from his knees, when suddenly four ladies in brilliant 
light appeared before him. Two stayed his steps, and one 
of the others addressed him. She reproached him for 
never having asked wisdom from her who is called "Seat 
of Wisdom. " At that he knew that the fourth lady was 
the Virgin, and she now stood forth, and spoke to him: 

"My son, you have asked me for many favors but for 
learning — never. You seemed to think that that must 
come from yourself. It is God's gift as much as is any 
other. Tell me now what you desire, and it shall be yours. " 

"I desire not/' replied Albert humbly, "all knowledge, 
but only to possess the science of philosophy and of nature." 

"You had better asked theology," said the Virgin, "for 

worldly knowledge is beset with dangers, while theology 

lifts the soul to God. But your request is granted. Only 

remember that this science will be withdrawn from you on 

. the day on which it is likely to become dangerous to you." 

The vision disappeared, and the next day there was 
general stupefaction in the classes. Albert was the theme 
of universal astonishment. The "ass" had been miracu- 
lously metamorphosed into the most brilliant philosopher 
of the day. He was sent to Cologne to teach philosophy. 
Afterward from Hildesheim, Freiburg, Ratisbon, and 
Strasburg, he dazzled all Germany with the brilliancy of 
his philosophical attainments. He was called to Paris to 



78 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

lecture in its great university, but when he began to teach, 
such a concourse flocked to his lectures that no hall of the 
university would hold them. It became necessary for 
Master Aubert, so the French called him, to give his lec- 
tures in an open square, named from this circumstance the 
" Place Maubert." Among his scholars, and the .most 
celebrated of them, was Thomas Aquinas, the Angel of the 
Schools, and the greatest light of Christian Theology. 

When Albert was seventy-two he had become for all 
future time Albertus Magnus, Albert the Great, but never, 
up to that age, had he ever listened to the slightest whisper 
of vanity. One day, seeing the immense auditory before 
him electrified by his discourse, the old man raised his head 
with a feeling of self-satisfaction. Suddenly, as if he saw a 
vision, he turned and Teft the lecture stand. The Virgin 
had kept her word. He had lost his memory — lost it in 
the very first moment that his great knowledge had become 
a source of vanity. He felt he had fallen into the state of 
dullness from which so long ago the Virgin had freed him. 
He understood the warning, and without a murmur of 
regret gave the rest of his days to preparation for death 
which came upon him two years later. 

— Anonymous. 

45.— A ROYAL CHARITY 

The Duchess Elizabeth of Thuringia was a woman who 
amid the wealth and allurements of a court found her 
greatest pleasure in the service of the poor and afflicted. 
She fed them with food from her own table, and she clothed 
them with garments of her own making. Everything she 
could save from her own income she spent on these unfor- 
tunate ones of Christ. In all this she was approved by her 
husband who was himself a remarkably pious man. But 
the Duke's mother was a woman altogether worldly- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 79 

minded, and she never ceased expressing her dissatisfaction 
with her pious daughter-in-law. What the old lady desired 
was a daughter-in-law who would spend all her time on the 
world's frivolities. 

Once Elizabeth's husband went to spend some days away 
from home in a distant part of his possessions. The good 
Duchess devoted herself as usual to the sick and poor. 
Among the sick was one poor little leper named Helias 
whose condition was so deplorable that no one would take 
charge of him. Elizabeth, seeing him thus abandoned by 
all, felt herself bound to do more for him than for any other. 
She took him, and bathed him, and anointed him with a 
healing balm, and laid him in a bed, even that of her royal 
husband. 

Now it happened that the Duke returned home while his 
wife was thus occupied. His mother ran out to meet him, 
and when he alighted, she said: 

"Come with me, my son, and I will show thee a pretty 
.doing of thy Elizabeth. " 

Then taking him by the hand she led him to his room, 
and said to him: 

"Now, look, dear son, thy wife puts lepers in thy bed, 
without my being able to prevent her. She wishes to give 
.thee the leprosy; thou seest it thyself." 
e On hearing these words, the Duke could not repress a 
certain degree of irritation, and he quickly raised the cover- 
ings of his bed; but at the same moment according to the 
beautiful expression of the historian, "The Most High 
unsealed the eyes of his soul, and in place of the leper, 
he saw the figure of Jesus Christ crucified extended on 
his bed." 
if At this sight he remained motionless, as did his mother, 
\ and began to shed abundant tears without being able at 
[first to utter a word. Then turning around, he saw his 



80 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

wife, who had gently followed in order to calm his wrath 
against the leper, and said: 

" Elizabeth, my dear wife, I pray thee often to give my 
bed to such guests. I shall always thank thee for this, and 
.be not hindered by any one in the exercise of thy virtues." 
g Then he knelt, and thanked God for this signal manifesta- 
tion of Himself. And Elizabeth profited by the impression 
which this scene made on the Duke to obtain his permission 
to erect an almshouse midway up the rocky height crowned 
by his castle of Wartburg. She therein maintained, from 
that time, twenty-eight sick or infirm poor, chosen from 
among those who were too feeble to ascend to the castle to 
beg alms. 

— Anonymous. 

46.— THE BOY MARTYR 

a The boy Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, 
the last of the band of martyrs devoted to that day's enter- 
tainment. He had been reserved in hopes that the sight of 
others' sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect 
had been the reverse. He took his stand where he was 
placed, and his yet delicate frame contrasted with the 
swarthy and brawny limbs of the executioners who sur- 
rounded him. They now left him alone. 

b There he stood without fetters, his hands stretched out in 
the form of a cross, and praying God most attentively, with 
a fixed and untrembling heart. A bear and then a leopard 
were let loose upon him. They breathed fury and death 
in their very snort, and were rushing on to tear his limbs in 
pieces. Suddenly their jaws seemed seized and closed by 
some divine and mysterious power, and they drew back 
altogether. 

cf The mob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after 
L another careering madly round him, roaring and lashing its 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 81 

"sides with its tail, while he seemed placed in a charmed 
circle, which they could not approach. A furious bull, let 
loose upon him, dashed madly forward with its neck bent 
down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his 
head against a stone wall, pawed the ground, and scattered 
the dust around him bellowing fiercely. 

" Provoke him, thou coward !" roared out the enraged 
l emperor. 

Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms, 
ran toward his enemy; but the savage brute, as if a lion 
had been rushing on him, turned around, and ran aw r ay 
toward the entrance, where, meeting his keeper, he tossed 
him high into the air. All were disconcerted save the brave 
youth who had resumed his attitude of prayer, when one of 
the crowd shouted out: 

"He is a sorcerer; he hath a charm around his neck." 

The whole multitude re-echoed the cry till the emperor, 
having commanded silence, called out to him to cast away 
the amulet. 

"Sire," replied the youth, "it is no charm but a bit of 
sponge moistened with the blood of my martyred father. 
Try once more. It was a panther which gave him his 
crown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me." 

"The Panther!" shouted out a voice. "The Panther!" 
responded twenty. "The Panther!" thundered forth a 
hundred thousand in a chorus like the roaring of an ava- 
lanche. A cage started up, as if by magic, from the midst 
of the sand, and as it rose, its side fell down, and freed the 
captive of the desert. With one graceful bound the ele- 
gant savage gained its liberty; and though enraged by 
darkness, confinement, and hunger, it seemed almost play- 
ful, as it leaped and turned about, frisked and gamboled 
noiselessly on the sand. At last it caught sight of its prey. 
All its feline cunning and cruelty seemed to return and to 



82 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

conspire together in animating the cautious and treacher- 
ous movements of its velvet-covered frame. The whole 
amphitheater was as silent as if it had been a hermit's cell, 
while every eye was intent, watching the stealthy ap- 
proaches of the sleek brute to its victim. Pancratius was 
still standing in the same place, facing the Emperor, appar- 
ently so absorbed in higher thoughts as not to heed the 
movements of his enemy. The panther had stolen around 
him, as if disdaining to attack him except in front. Crouch- 
ing upon its breast, slowly advancing one paw before the 
other, it gained its measured distance; and there it lay for 
some moments of breathless suspense. A deep snarling 
growl, an elastic spring through the air, and it was seen 
gathered like a leech, with its hind feet on the chest, and its 
fangs and fore-claws on the throat of the martyr. 

He stood erect for a moment. But the arteries of the 
neck had been severed, and the slumber of martyrdom at 
once settled on his eyelids. 

— From Nicholas Patrick Wiseman, "Fabiola." 

47.— A CHRISTIAN SOLDIER 

Sebastian, favorite officer of the Emperor Maximian, 
had been accused, and had confessed that he was a Chris- 
tian. That he had once esteemed him so highly made the 
emperor only the more vindictive, now that his admiration 
for Sebastian was turned to hate. No ordinary death 
would do for him. Maximian summoned Hyphax, chief of 
the African archers, and bade him shoot Sebastian slowly 
to death, giving him no fatal wounds but stinging the life 
out of him with pin-thrusts. But a soldier so high in the 
imperial service as Sebastian had wealthy friends in Rome, 
and one of these, hearing of his condemnation, bribed 
Hyphax to wound Sebastian unto insensibility but not unto 
death. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 83 

The night of his condemnation Sebastian slept in a dun- 
geon, and dreamt of his martyrdom, for he knew nothing 
of the provision made for him by his friend. The next 
morning he was led into the court of the imperial palace 
which separated the quarters of his own cohort from those 
of the African archers. It was planted with rows of trees, 
and consecrated to Adonis. He walked cheerfully in the 
midst of his executioners. He was stripped, and bound to 
a tree, while the five chosen archers took their stand oppo- 
site, cool and collected. It was at best a desolate sort of a 
death. Not a friend, not a sympathizer near; not one 
single Christian to bear his farewell to the faithful, or to 
record for them his last accents and the constancy of his 
end. To stand in the middle of the amphitheater with a 
hundred thousand witnesses of Christian constancy, to see 
the encouraging looks of many, and to hear the whispered 
blessings of a few loving acquaintances had something 
cheering and almost inspiring in it; it lent at least the 
feeble aid of human emotions to the more powerful sustain- 
ment of grace. The very shout of an insulting multitude 
put a strain upon natural courage as the hunter's cry 
nerves the stag at bay. But this dead and silent scene, at 
dawn of day, shut up in the court of a house; this being, 
with almost unfeeling indifference, tied up like a truss of 
hay, or a stuffed figure, to be coolly aimed at according to 
the tyrant's orders; this being alone in the midst of a horde 
of swarthy savages, whose very language was strange, un- 
couth and unintelligible, but who were no doubt uttering 
their rude jokes and laughing, as men do before a match or 
game, which they are going to enjoy; all this had more the 
appearance of a piece of cruelty, about to be acted in a 
gloomy forest by banditti, than open and glorious confes- 
sion of Christ's name; it looked more like assassination 
than martyrdom. 



84 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

But Sebastian cared not for all this. Angels looked over 
the wall upon him; and the rising sun, which dazzled his 
eyes but made him a clearer mark for the bowmen, shone not 
more brightly on him than did the countenance of the only 
Witness he cared to have of suffering endured for His sake. 

The first Moor drew an arrow to his ear, and the first 
arrow trembled in the flesh of Sebastian. Each chosen 
marksman followed in turn; and shouts of applause accom- 
panied each hit, so cleverly approaching, yet avoiding, ac- 
cording to that imperial order, every vital part. And so 
the game went on; everybody laughing and brawling and 
jeering and enjoying it, without a particle of feeling for the 
now drooping frame, painted with blood; all in sport except 
the martyr, to whom all was sober earnest — the sharp 
pang, the enduring smart, the exhaustion, the weariness, 
the knotty cords, the constrained attitude. 

It was indeed a dreary death; yet this was not the 
worst. After all death came not; the golden gates re- 
mained unbarred; the martyr in heart and desire found 
himself not translated from life to death but sunk in un- 
consciousness in the laps of angels. His tormentors saw 
when they, had reached their intended measure; they cut 
the cords that bound him; and Sebastian fell exhausted 
and, to all appearance, dead upon the carpet of blood which 
he had spread for himself on the pavement. 

The Christians were allowed to carry him away, and they 
nursed the almost lifeless form back to life. But Sebastian 
would not be deprived of his crown. As soon as he had 
recovered sufficiently for the effort, he dragged himself into 
the presence of the Emperor, and, fearlessly upbraiding him 
for his cruelty to the Christians, he was, by order of the 
tyrant, beaten to death with clubs, and thus gained the 
crown which he coveted so much. 

— From Nicholas Patrick Wiseman, "Fabiola," 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 85 

48.— "QUO VADIS, DOMINE ?" 

About dawn, hundreds of years ago, two dark figures 
were moving along the Appian Way from Rome toward 
the Campania. 

One of them was the boy, Nazarius; the other the Apostle 
Peter, yielding at last to the prayers of the Christians to 
save himself for the sake of the Church. 

The sky in the east was assuming a light tinge of green, 
bordered gradually and more distinctly on the lower edge 
with saffron color. Silver-leaved trees, the white marble 
of villas, and the arches of aqueducts, stretching through 
the plain towards the city, were emerging from shade. The 
greenness of the sky was clearing gradually, and becoming 
permeated with gold. Then the east began to grow rosy 
and illuminate the Alban hills, which seemed marvelously 
beautiful, lily-colored, as if formed of rays of light alone. 

The light was reflected in trembling leaves of trees, in the 
dew-drops. The haze grew thinner, opening wider and 
wider views on the plain, on the houses dotting it, on the 
cemeteries, on the towns, and on groups of trees, among 
which stood white columns of temples. 

The road was empty. Evidently the villagers who took 
vegetables to the city had not yet succeeded in harnessing 
beasts to their vehicles. From the stone blocks with which 
the road was paved as far as the mountains, there came a low 
sound from the bark shoes on the feet of the two travelers. 

Then the sun appeared over the line of the hills; but at 
once a wonderful vision struck the Apostle's eyes. It 
seemed to him that the golden circle, instead of rising in the 
sky, moved down from the heights, and was advancing on 
the road. Peter stopped, and asked: 

"Seest thou that brightness approaching us?" 

"I see nothing," replied Nazarius, 



86 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



1 f 



m 



But Peter shaded his eyes with his hand, and said after a 
while : 

"Some figure is coming in the gleam of the sun." 

But not the slightest sound of steps reached their ears. It 
was perfectly still all around. Nazarius saw only that the 
trees were quivering in the distance as if some one were 
shaking them, and the light was spreading more broadly 
over the plain. He looked in wonder at the Apostle. 

" Rabbi! what ails thee?" cried he in alarm. 

The pilgrim's staff fell from Peter's hands to the earth; his 
eyes were looking forward, motionless; his mouth was open; 
on his face were depicted astonishment, delight, rapture. 

Then he threw himself on his knees, his arms stretched 
forward; and this cry left his lips: 

"O Christ! O Christ!" 

He fell with his face to the earth, as if kissing some one's 
feet. 

The silence continued long; then were heard the words 
of the aged man, broken by sobs: 

"Quo vadis, Domine?" 

Nazarius did not hear the answer; but to Peter's ears 
came a sad and sweet voice, which said: — 

"If thou desert my people, I am going to Rome to be 
crucified a second time." 

The Apostle lay on the ground, his face in the dust, with- 
out motion or speech. It seemed to Nazarius that he had 
fainted or was dead; but he rose at last, seized the staff 
with trembling hands, and turned without a word towards 
the seven hills of the city. 

The boy, seeing this, repeated as an echo: 

"Quo vadis, Domine?" 

"To Rome," replied the Apostle. 

And he returned to death. 

— From Henryk Sienkiewicz, "Quo Vadis." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 87 

49.— OSHIDORI 

There was a falconer and hunter, named Sonjo, who lived 
in the district called Tamura-no-go of the province of 
Mutsu. One day he went out hunting, and could not find 
any game. But on his way home, at a place called Aka- 
numa, he perceived a pair of Oshidori (mandarin-ducks) 
swimming together in a river that he was about to cross. 
To kill Oshidori is not good; but Sonjo happened to be very 
hungry, and he shot at the pair. His arrow pierced the 
male; the female escaped into the rushes of the further 
shore, and disappeared. Sonjo took the dead bird home, 
and cooked it. 

That night he dreamed a dreary dream. It seemed to 
him that a beautiful woman came into his room, and stood 
by his pillow, and began to weep. So bitterly did she weep 
that Sonjo felt as if his heart were being torn out while he 
listened. And the woman cried to him: " Why, — oh! why 
did you kill him? — of what wrong was he guilty? . . . 
At Akanuma we were so happy together, — and'you killed 
him! . . . What harm did he ever do you? Do you 
even know what you have done? — Oh! do you know what a 
cruel, what a wicked thing you have done? ... Me 
too you have killed, — for I will not live without my hus- 
band! . . . Only to tell you this have I come.". . . 
Then again she wept aloud, — so bitterly that the voice of 
her crying pierced into the marrow of the listener's bones; — 
and she sobbed out the words of this poem: 

(Translation) 
At the coming of twilight 
I invited him to return with me — ! 
Now to sleep alone in the shadow 
Of the rushes of Akanuma — 
Ah! what misery unspeakable! 



88 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

And after having uttered these verses she exclaimed: 
"Ah, you do not know what you have done! But to- 
morrow, when you go to Akanuma, you will see, — you will 
see. . . ." So saying, and weeping very piteously, she 
went away. 

When Son jo awoke in the morning, this dream remained 
so vivid in his mind that he was greatly troubled. He re- 
membered the words: "But to-morrow, when you go to 
Akanuma, you will see, — you will see." And he resolved 
to go there at once, that he might learn whether his dream 
was anything more than a dream. 

So he went to Akanuma; and there, when he came to the 
river-bank, he saw the female Oshidori swimming alone. 
In the same moment the bird perceived Sonjo; but, instead 
of trying to escape, she swam straight towards him, looking 
at him the while in a strange fixed way. Then, with her 
beak, she suddenly tore open her own body, and died before 
the hunter's eyes. . . . Sonjo shaved his head, and 
became a bonze. 

— From " Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

50.— THE STORY OF OTEI 

A long time ago, in the town of Niigata, in the province of 
Echizen, there lived a man called Nagao Chosei. Nagao 
was the son of a physician, and was educated for his father's 
profession. At an early age he had been betrothed to a 
girl called Otei, the daughter of one of his father's friends; 
and both families had agreed that the wedding should take 
place as soon as Nagao had finished his studies. But the 
health of Otei proved to be weak; and in her fifteenth 
year she was attacked by a fatal consumption. When she 
became aware that she must die, she sent for Nagao to bid 
him farewell. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 89 

As he knelt by her bedside, she said to him: 

"Nagoa-Sama, my betrothed, we were promised to each 
other from our childhood; and we were to have been mar- 
ried at the end of this year. But now I am going to die; — 
the gods know what is best for us. I am quite resigned to 
die; and I want you to promise that you will not grieve. 
. . . Besides, I want to tell you that I think we shall 
meet again, — and in this world, — although I shall be buried 
to-morrow. Yes, I mean in this world, — in your own pres- 
ent life, Nagoa-Sama, . . . providing, indeed, that you 
wish it. Only for this thing to happen, I must again be 
born a girl, and grow up to womanhood. So you would 
have to wait. Fifteen — sixteen years; that is a long 
time. . . . " 

Eager to soothe her dying moments, he answered ten- 
derly: 

"To wait for you, my betrothed, were no less a joy than 

a duty. We are pledged to each other for the time of seven 

existences." 

She ceased to speak; and her eyes closed. She was dead. 
# # * 

Nagao had been sincerely attached to Otei; and his grief 
was deep. He thought a great deal about the strange things 
Otei had said to him just before her death; and in the 
hope of pleasing her spirit, he wrote a solemn promise to 
wed her if she could return to him in another body. Never- 
theless, as Nagao was an only son, it was necessary that he 
should marry. He soon found himself obliged to yield to 
the wishes of his family, and to accept a wife of his father's 
choosing. After his marriage he continued to set offerings 
before the tablet of Otei; and he never failed to remember 
her with affection. But by degrees her image became dim 
in his memory, — like a dream that is hard to recall. And 
the years went by. 



90 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



g(C) 



h(C) 



During those years many misfortunes came upon him. 
He lost his parents by death, — then his wife, and his only 
child. So that he found himself alone in the world. He 
abandoned his desolate home, and set out upon a long 
journey in the hope of forgetting his sorrows. 

One day, in the course of his travels, he arrived at Ikao, — 
a mountain-village still famed for its thermal springs, and 
for the beautiful scenery of its neighborhood. In the vil- 
lage-inn at which he stopped, a young girl came to wait 
upon him; and at the first sight of her face, he felt his 
heart leap as it had never leaped before. So strangely did 
she resemble Otei that he pinched himself to make sure 
that he was not dreaming. As she went and came, — bring- 
ing fire and wood, or arranging the chamber of the guest, — 
her every attitude and motion revived in him some gracious 
memory of the girl to whom he had been pledged in youth. 
He spoke to her; and she responded in a soft, clear voice of 
which the sweetness saddened him with a sadness of other 
days. 

Then, in great wonder, he questioned her, saying: 

" Elder Sister, so much do you look like a person whom I 
knew long ago, that I was startled when you first entered 
this room. Pardon me, therefore, for asking what is j^our 
native place, and what is your name?" 

Immediately, — and in the unforgotten voice of the dead, 
— she thus made answer: — 

"My name is Otei; and you are Nagao Chosei of Echigo, 
my promised husband. Seventeen years ago, I died in 
Niigata: then you made in writing a promise to marry me 
if ever I could come back to this world in the body of a 
woman; — and you sealed that written promise with a seal, 
and put it in the Butsudan, beside the tablet inscribed with 
my name. And therefore I came back. . . ." 

As she uttered these last words, she fell unconscious. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 91 

Nagao married her; and the marriage was a happy one. 
But at no time afterwards could she remember what she 
had told him in answer to his question at Ikao: neither 
could she remember anything of her previous existence. 
The recollection of the former birth, — mysteriously kindled 
in the moment of that meeting, — had again become ob- 
scured, and so thereafter remained. 

— From "Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

51.— UBAZAKURA 

Three hundred years ago, in the village called Asami- 
mura, in the district called Onsengori, in the province of Iyo, 
there lived a good man named Tokubei. This Tokubei was 
the richest person in the district, and the Muraosa, or head- 
man, of the village. In most matters he was fortunate; 
but he reached the age of forty without knowing the hap- 
piness of becoming a father. Therefore he and his wife, in 
the affliction of their childlessness, addressed many prayers 
to the divinity. 

At last their prayers were heard; the wife of Tokubei 
gave birth to a daughter. The child was very pretty; and 
she received the name of Tsyu. As the mother's milk was 
deficient, a milk-nurse, called O-Sode, was hired for the 
little one. 

O-Tsyu grew up to be a very beautiful girl; but at the 
age of fifteen she fell sick, and the doctors thought she was 
going to die. In that time the nurse O-Sode, who loved 
O-Tsyu with a real mother's love, went to the temple and 
fervently prayed to the god on behalf of the girl. Every 
day, for twenty-one days, she went to the temple, and 
prayed; and at the end of that time O-Tsyu suddenly and 
completely recovered. 



92 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

Then there was great rejoicing in the house of Tokubei; 
and he gave a feast to all his friends in celebration of the 
happy event. But on the night of the feast the nurse 
O-Sode was suddenly taken ill; and on the following morn- 
ing the doctor, who had been summoned to attend her, 
announced that she was dying. 
e(C) [ Then the family, in great sorrow, gathered about her bed, 
to bid her farewell. But she said to them: 

"It is time that I should tell you something which you 
do not know. My prayer has been heard. I besought the 
god that I might be permitted to die in the place of O-Tsyu; 
and this great favor has been granted me. Therefore you 
must not grieve about my death. . . . But I have one 
request to make. I promised the god that I would have a 
cherry-tree planted in the garden of the temple for a thank- 
offering and a commemoration. Now I shall not be able 
myself to plant the tree there: so I must beg you will fulfill 
that vow for me. . . . Good-bye, dear friends; and 
remember that I was happy to die for O-Tsyu's sake." 

After the funeral of O-Sode, a young cherry-tree — the 
finest that could be found — was planted in the garden of 
the temple by the parents of O-Tsyu. The tree grew and 
flourished; and on the sixteenth day of the second month 
of the following year — the anniversary of O-Sode's death — 
it blossomed in a wonderful way. So it continued to blos- 
som for two hundred and fifty-four years — always upon 
the sixteenth day of the second month — and its flowers, 
pink and white, were like the nipples of a woman's breast, 
bedewed with milk. And the people called it Ubazakura, 
the cherry-tree of the Milk-Nurse. 

— From "Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



98 



52.— MUJINA 

On the. Akasaka Road, in Tokyo, there is a slope called 
the slope of the Province of Kii. On one side of this slope 
you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high 
green banks rising up to some place of gardens; — and on 
the other side of the road extend the long and lofty walls of 
an imperial palace. Before the era of street-lamps and 
jinrikishas, the neighborhood was very lonesome after 
dark; and belated pedestrians would go miles out of their 
way rather than mount the slope alone after sunset — all 
because of a Mujina that used to walk there. 

The last man who saw the Mujina was an old man, who 
died about thirty years ago. This is the story as he told 
of it: 

One night at a late hour, he was hurrying up the slope, 
when he perceived a woman crouching by the moat, all 
alone, and weeping bitterly. Fearing that she intended to 
drown herself, he stopped to offer her any assistance or 
consolation in his power. She appeared to be a slight and 
graceful person, handsomely dressed; and her hair was 
arranged like that of a young girl of good family. 

" Honorable damsel," he exclaimed, approaching her, 
"do not cry like that! . . . Tell me what the trouble 
is; and if there be any way to help you, I shall be glad to 
help you." (He really meant what he said; for he was a 
very kind man.) But she continued to weep — hiding her 
face from him with one of her long sleeves. 

"Honorable damsel," he said again, as gently as he could, 
"please, please listen to me! . . . This is no place 
for a young lady at night! Do not cry, I implore you! — 
c only tell me how I may be of some help to you!" 

Slowly she rose up, but turned her back to him, and con- 
tinued to moan and sob behind her sleeve. He laid his 



94 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

hand lightly upon her shoulder, and pleaded: — " Listen to 
me, just for one little moment! . . . Honorable dam- 
sel !" . . . Then that honorable damsel turned round, 
and dropped her sleeve, and stroked her face with her hand; 
— and the man saw that she had no eyes or nose or mouth, 
and he screamed and ran away. 

Up the slope he ran and ran; and all was black and 
empty before him. On and on he ran, never daring to look 
back; and at last he saw a lantern, so far away that it 
looked like the gleam of a firefly, and he made for it. It 
proved to be only the lantern of an itinerant pancake- 
seller, who had set down his stand by the roadside; but 
any light and any human companionship was good after 
that experience; and he flung himself down at the feet of 
the pancake-seller, crying out, " Aa! — Aa! ! — Aa! ! ! " . , . 

"Come, come/' roughly exclaimed the pancake-man. 
" Here ! what is the matter with you? Anybody hurt you? " 

"No — nobody hurt me," panted the other, — "only . . 
Ah!— ah!" 

" — Only scared you?" queried the peddler, unsympa- 
thetically. "Robbers?" 

"Not robbers — not robbers," gasped the terrified man. 
. . . I saw a woman — by the moat — and she showed 
me — Ah! I cannot tell you what she showed me — 
Ah!" . . . 

" Ha! Was it anything like THIS that she showed you? " 
cried the pancake-man, stroking his own face — which there- 
with became like unto an egg. 

And, simultaneously, the light went out. 
— From "Kwaidan," .by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 95 

53.— YUKI-ONNA 

In a village of Japan, there lived two woodcutters: Mo- 
saku and Minokichi. At the time of which I am speaking, 
Mosaku was an old man; and Minokichi, his apprentice, 
was a lad of eighteen years. Every day they went together 
to a forest situated about five miles from their village. On 
the way to that forest there is a wide river to cross; and 
there is a ferry-boat. Several times a bridge was built 
where the ferry is; but the bridge was each time carried 
away by a flood. No common bridge can resist the current 
when the river rises. 

Mosaku and Minokichi were on their way home, one very 
cold evening, when a great snowstorm overtook them. 
They reached the ferry; and they found that the boatman 
had gone away, leaving his boat on the other side of the 
river. It was no day for swimming; and the woodcutters 
took shelter in the ferryman's hut — thinking themselves 
lucky to find any shelter at all. There was no brazier in the 
hut, nor any place in which to make a fire: it was only a 
two-mat hut, with a single door, but no window. Mosaku 
and Minokichi fastened the door, and lay down to rest, with 
their straw raincoats over them. At first they did not 
feel very cold; and they thought that the storm would soon 
be over. 

The old man almost immediately fell asleep; but the boy, 
Minokichi, lay awake a long time, listening to the awful 
wind, and the continual slashing of the snow against the 
door. The river was roaring; and the hut swayed and 
creaked like a junk at sea. It was a terrible storm; and 
the air was every moment becoming colder; and Mino- 
kichi shivered under his raincoat. But at last, in spite of 
the cold, he too fell asleep. 

He was awakened by a showering of snow in his face. 



96 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

" The door of the hut had been forced open, and by the snow- 
light he could see that a woman was in the room — a woman 
all in white. She was bending above Mosaku, and blowing 
her breath upon him; — and her breath was like a bright 
white smoke. Almost in the same moment she turned to 
Minokichi, and stooped over him. He tried to cry out, but 
found that he could not utter any sound. The white 
woman bent down over him, lower and lower, until her face 
almost touched him; and he saw that she was very beauti- 
ful — though her eyes made him afraid. For a little time she 
continued to look at him; — then she smiled, and she whis- 
pered : 

"I intended to treat you like the other man. But I 
cannot help feeling some pity for you — because you are so 
young. You are a pretty boy, Minokichi; and I will not 
hurt you now. But, if you ever tell anybody — even your 
own mother — about what you have seen this night, I shall 
, know it; and then I will kill you. Remember what I say ! " 

With these words, she turned from him, and passed 
through the doorway. Then he found himself able to 
move; and he sprang up, and looked out. But the woman 
was nowhere to be seen; and the snow was driving furiously 
into the hut. Minokichi closed the door, and secured it by 
fixing several billets of wood against it. He wondered if 
the wind had blown it open; — he thought that he might have 
been only dreaming, and might have mistaken the gleam of 
the snow-light in the doorway for the figure of a white 
woman; but he could not be sure. He called to Mosaku, 
and was frightened because the old man did not answer. 
He put out his hand in the dark, and touched Mosaku's 
face, and found that it was ice! Mosaku was stark and 
dead. 

By dawn the storm was over; and when the ferryman re- 
turned to his station, a little after sunrise, he found Mino- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 97 

kichi lying senseless beside the frozen body of Mosaku. 
Minokichi was promptly cared for, and soon came to him- 
self; but he remained a long time ill from the effects of the 
cold of that terrible night. He had been greatly frightened 
also by the old man's death; but he said nothing about the 
vision of the woman in white. As soon as he got well again, 
he returned to his calling — going alone every morning to 
the forest, and coming back at nightfall with his bundles of 
wood, which his mother helped him to sell. 

One evening in the winter of the following year, as he was 
on his way home, he overtook a girl who happened to be 
traveling by the same road. She was a tall slim girl, very 
good-looking; and she answered Minokichi's greeting in a 
voice as pleasant to the ear as the voice of a song-bird. 
Then he walked beside her; and they began to talk. The 
girl said that her name was Snow; that she had lately lost 
her parents; and that she' was going to Yeddo, where she 
happened to have some poor relations, who might help her 
to find a situation as a servant. Minokichi soon felt 
charmed by this strange girl; and the more he looked at her, 
the handsomer she appeared to be. He asked her whether 
she was as yet betrothed; and she answered, laughingly, 
that she was free. Then, in her turn, she asked Minokichi 
whether he was married, or pledged to marry; and he told 
her that, although he had only a widowed mother to sup- 
port, the question of an " honorable daughter-in-law" had 
not yet been considered, as he was very young. . . . 
After these confidences, they walked on for a long time 
without speaking; but, as the proverb declares, " When the 
wish is there, the eyes can say as much as the mouth. " By 
the time they reached the village, they had become very 
much pleased with each other; and then Minokichi asked 
Snow to rest awhile at his house. After some shy hesita- 
tion, she went there with him; and his mother made her 



98 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

welcome, and prepared a warm meal for her. Snow be- 
haved so nicely that Minokichi's mother took a sudden 
fancy to her, and persuaded her to delay her journey to 
Yeddo. And the natural end of the matter was that Snow 
never went to Yeddo at all. She remained in the house, as 
an " honorable daughter-in-law. " 
h When Minokichi's mother came to die, some five years 
later, her last words were words of affection and praise for 
the wife of her son. And Snow bore Minokichi ten children, 
boys and girls— handsome children all of them, and very fair 
of skin. 
i The country-folk thought Snow a wonderful person, by 
nature different from themselves. Most of the peasant- 
women age early; but Snow, even after having become the 
mother of ten children, looked as young and fresh as on the 
day when she had first come to the village. 

j(C) f One night, after the children had gone to sleep, Snow was 
sewing by the light of a paper lamp; and Minokichi, watch- 
ing her, said: 

"To see you sewing there, with the light on your face, 

makes me think of a strange thing that happened when I 

was a lad of eighteen. I then saw somebody as beautiful 

. and white as you are now — indeed, she was very like you." 

k(C) f Without lifting her eyes from her work, Snow responded: 
I "Tell me about her! Where did you see her?" 



1 



Then Minokichi told her about the terrible night in the 
ferryman's hut — and about the white woman that had 
stooped above him, smiling and whispering, and about the 
silent death of old Mosaku. And he said: 

"Asleep or awake, that was the only time I saw a being 
as beautiful as you. Of course, she was not a human being; 
and I was afraid of her — very much afraid — but she was 
so white! Indeed, I have never been sure whether it was a 
dream that I saw, or the Woman of the Snow." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 99 

Snow flung down her sewing, and arose, and bowed above 
Minokichi where he sat, and shrieked into his face: 

"It was I — I — I! Snow it was! And I told you that I 
would kill you if you ever said one word about it ! But for 
those children asleep there, I would kill you this moment! 
And now you had better take very, very good care of them; 
for if ever they have reason to complain of you, I will treat 
.you as you deserve !" 

Even as she screamed, her voice became thin, like a cry- 
ing of wind; — then she melted into a bright thin mist that 
spired to the roof-beams, and shuddered away through the 
smoke-hole. Never again was she seen. 

— From " Kwaidan, " by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

54.— JIU-ROKU-ZAKURA 

In a district of the province of Iyo, there is a very ancient 
and famous cherry-tree, called Jiu-Roku-Zakura, or the 
Cherry-tree of the Sixteenth Day, because it blooms every 
year upon the sixteenth day of the first month (by the old 
lunar calendar) and only upon that day. Thus the time of 
its flowering is the Period of the Great Cold — though the 
natural habit of a cherry-tree is to wait for the spring season 
before venturing to blossom. But the Jiu-Roku-Zakura 
blossoms with a life that is not — or, at least, was not origi- 
nally its own. There is the ghost of a man in that tree. 

He was a samurai of Iyo; and the tree grew in his garden; 
and it used to flower at the usual time — that is to say, about 
the end of March or the beginning of April. He had played 
under that tree when he was a child; and his parents and 
grandparents and ancestors had hung to its blossoming 
branches, season after season for more than a hundred 
years, bright strips of colored paper inscribed with poems 



100 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

of praise. He himself became very old — outliving all his 
children; and there was nothing left in the world for him to 
love except that tree. And lo! in the summer of a certain 
year, the tree withered and died. 

Exceedingly the old man sorrowed for his tree. Then 
kind neighbors found for him a young and beautiful cherry- 
tree, and planted it in his garden, hoping thus to comfort 
him. And he gladly thanked them, and pretended to be 
glad. But really his heart was full of pain; for he had 
loved the old tree so well that nothing could have consoled 
him for the loss of it. 

At last there came to him a happy thought: he remem- 
bered a way by which the perishing tree might be saved. 
(It was the sixteenth day of the first month.) Alone he 
went into his garden, and bowed down before the withered 
tree, and spoke to it, saying: "Now deign, I beseech you, 
once more to bloom because I am going to die in your 
stead.' J (For it is believed that one can really give away 
one's life to another person, or to a creature, or even to a 
tree, by the favor of the gods; — and thus to transfer one's 
life is expressed by the term migawari ni tatsu, "to act as 
a substitute.") Then under that tree he spread a white 
cloth, and divers coverings, and sat down upon the cover- 
ings, and performed hara-kiri after the fashion of the 
samurai. And the ghost of him went into the tree, and 
made it blossom in that same hour. 

And every year it still blooms on the sixteenth day of the 
first month, in the season of snow. 

— From "Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

55.— RIKI-BAKA 

His name was Riki, signifying Strength; but the people 
called him Riki-the-Simple, or Riki-the-Fool — Riki-Baka — 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 101 

because he had been born into perpetual childhood. For 
the same reason they were kind to him — even when he set a 
house on fire by putting a lighted match to a mosquito- 
curtain, and clapped his hands for joy to see the blaze. At 
sixteen years he was a tall, strong lad; but in mind he re- 
mained always at the happy age of two, and therefore con- 
tinued to play with very small children. The bigger chil- 
dren of the neighborhood, from four to seven years old, 
refused to play with him, because he could not learn their 
songs and games. His favorite toy was a broomstick, 
which he used as a hobby-horse; and for hours at a time he 
would ride on that broomstick, up and down the slope in 
front of my house, with amazing peals of laughter. But at 
last he became troublesome by reason of his noise; and I 
had to tell him that he must find another playground. He 
bowed submissively, and then went off — sorrowfully trail- 
ing his broomstick after him. Gentle at all times, and per- 
fectly harmless if allowed no chance to play with fire, he 
seldom gave anybody cause for complaint. His relation to 
the life of our street was scarcely more than that of a dog or 
a chicken; and when he finally disappeared, I did not miss 
him. Months and months passed by before anything hap- 
pened to remind me of Riki. 

b(C) " What has become of Riki?" I then asked the old wood- 
cutter who supplies our neighborhood with fuel. I remem- 
bered that Riki had often helped him to carry his bundles. 

c(C) "Riki-Baka?" answered the old man. "Ah, Riki is 
dead, poor fellow! Yes, he died nearly a year ago, very 
suddenly; the doctor said he had some disease of the 
brain. And there is a strange story now about that poor 
Riki. 

d(C) "When Riki died, his mother wrote his name, 'Riki- 
Baka, ' in the palm of his left hand — putting Riki in the 
Chinese character, and Baka in Hana. And she repeated 



102 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

many prayers to him — prayers that he might be reborn 
into some more happy condition. 

e(C) "Now, about three months ago, a boy was born in an 
honorable family, with the words Riki-Baka plainly visible 
on his left hand. 

f(C) "So the people of that house knew that the birth must 
have happened in answer to some prayer; and they caused 
inquiry to be made everywhere. At last a vegetable-seller 
brought word to them of the death of Riki-Baka; and they 
sent two men-servants to look for the mother of Riki. They 
found her, and she was exceedingly glad to learn what had 
happened. But the servants said that the family was very 
angry about the word Baka on the child's hand. ' And where 
is your Riki buried? ' the servants asked. She told them. 
* Please to give to us some clay from his grave/ they re- 
quested. 

g(C) "So she went with them to the graveyard, and they took 
some of the grave clay away with them, wrapping it up in a 
square piece of cotton-goods. They gave Riki's mother 
some money, and hurriedly departed. 

h(C) "You know it would not do to let the child grow up with 
that name on his hand. And there is no other means of 
removing characters that come in that way upon the body 
of a child: you must rub the skin with clay taken from the 
grave of the body of the former birth.' ' 

— From "Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

56.— THE STORY OF AOYAGI 

a Tomotada, a young samurai, when about twenty years 
old, was sent upon a private mission to the great daimyo of 
Kyoto. It was the coolest period of the year when he 
started; the country was covered with snow; and though 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 103 

mounted on a powerful horse, he found himself obliged 
to proceed slowly. The road which he followed passed 
through a mountain-district where the settlements were 
few and far between; and on the second day of his journey, 
after a weary ride of hours, he was dismayed to find that he 
could not reach his intended halting-place until late in the 
night. He had reason to be anxious; — for a heavy snow- 
storm came on, with an intensely cold wind. Then, too, 
his horse showed signs of exhaustion. But, in that trying 
moment, Tomotada unexpectedly perceived the thatched 
roof of a cottage on the summit of a near hill, where willow- 
trees were growing. 

With difficulty he reached the cottage, knocked at the 
door, and was welcomed by a compassionate old woman. 
He entered, and beheld an old man and a girl warming 
themselves by a fire of bamboo splints. Rice-wine was 
offered him, and a coarse but ample meal was set before 
him. The girl served the wine, and Tomotada realized that 
she was the most incomparably lovely creature he had ever 
seen. He did not touch the food, but talked with her, and 
found that her speech was as sweet as her face. Before 
long Tomotada knew that the girl accepted his admiration, 
and she, on her part, let him understand that their love 
was mutual. Tom<5tada was so bewitched that without 
further preliminary, he asked the old people to give him 
their daughter in marriage. With many exclamations of 
grateful astonishment, they consented to give Aoyagi to 
their guest. Shortly after this, he made ready to depart. 
He placed Aoyagi on his horse, and bade the old folks fare- 
well. 

Now a samurai was not allowed to marry without the con- 
sent of his lord; and Tomotada could not expect to obtain 
this sanction before his mission had been accomplished. 
He therefore tried to keep his wife hidden from curious eyes 



104 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

in Kyoto. But a retainer of the daimyo one day caught 
sight of Aoyagi, discovered her relation to Tomotada, and 
reported the matter to the daimyo. Aoyagi was, as a re- 
sult, imprisoned in the daimyo 's palace, and after long 
pondering, Tomotada found means to convey to her a mes- 
sage written in the form of a Chinese poem. 
d On the evening of the day after this poem had been sent, 
Tomotada was ushered into the presence-room of the 
daimyo. Hosowaka, the daimyo, descended from his dais, 
and taking the youth by the arm, began to repeat the 
words of the poem. Tomotada thought that this was a 
prelude to his death-sentence, but on looking up at the 
prince, he saw kindly tears in the daimyo's eyes. 
e(C) Then said Hosowaka: " Because you love each other so 
much, I have taken it upon myself to authorize your mar- 
riage in lieu of my kinsman, the Lord of Noto; and your 
wedding shall now be celebrated before me." 
f At his signal, the sliding-screens, concealing a further 
apartment were pushed open, and Aoyagi, accompanied by 
the court dignitaries, was led up to Tomotada; — and the 
wedding was joyous and splendid. 

For five happy years after that wedding, Tomotada and 
Aoyagi dwelt together. But one morning Aoyagi while 
talking to her husband about some household matter, sud- 
denly uttered a great cry of pain, and then became very 
white and still. After a few moments she said in a feeble 
voice : 

"My dear husband, our union must have been brought 
about through some Karma-relation in a former state of 
existence; and that happy relation, I think, will bring us 
again together in more than one life to come. But for 
this present existence of ours, the relation is now ended; 
we are about to be separated; pray for me, for I am 
L dying." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 105 

"You are a little unwell, my dear one!" said Tomotada; 
"lie down, and the sickness will pass." 

"No, no!" she answered. "Besides it is needless to hide 
the truth from you any longer. I am not a human being. 
The soul of a tree is my soul; — the heart of a tree is my heart 
— the sap of the willow is my life. And some one at this 
cruel moment is cutting down my tree; that is why I 
I must die. Ah!" 

h With another cry of pain, her whole form seemed to col- 
lapse in the strangest way, and to sink down, down, down, 
to the level of the floor. Tomotada sprang to support her; 
— but there was nothing to support! There lay on the 
matting only the empty robes of the fair creature and the 
ornaments that she had worn in her hair; the body had 
ceased to exist. 

i Tomotada shaved his head, took the Buddhist vows, 
and became an itinerant priest. He traveled through all 
the provinces of the empire: and at all the holy places 
which he visited, he offered up prayers for the soul of 
Aoyagi. Reaching the home of his wife's parents, he found 
that the cottage had disappeared. There was nothing to 
mark even the spot where it had stood, except the stumps 
of three willows — two old ones and one young tree — that 
had been cut down long before his arrival. 

j Beside the stumps of those willow-trees he erected a 
memorial tomb, inscribed with divers holy texts; and he 
there performed many Buddhist rites on behalf of the 
spirits of Aoyagi and of her parents. 

— From "Kwaidan," by Lafcadio Hearn. Copyright, 1904, 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



106 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

57.— THE LEGEND OF HORSESHOE FALLS 

A beautiful Indian maiden was about to be compelled by 
her family to marry a hideous old Sachem. Despair was 
in her heart. She knew that there was no escape for her, so 
in desperation she leaped into her canoe, and pushed it 
from shore on the roaring waters of the Niagara. She 
heeded not that she was going to death, preferring the 
waters to the arms of her detested lover. 

Now the god of cloud and rain, the great deity, Hinun, 
who watches over the harvest, dwelt in a cave behind the 
running waters. From his home he saw the desperate 
launching of the maiden's canoe; saw her going to a most 
certain destruction. He spread out his wings, and flew to 
her rescue, and caught her just as her frail bark was dashing 
on the rocks below. 

The grateful Indian girl lived for weeks in Hinun's cave. 
He taught her many things. She learned from him why 
her people died so often — why sickness was always busy 
among them. He told her that a snake lay coiled up under 
the village, and that he crept out of his lair, and poisoned 
the springs, because he lived upon human beings, and 
craved their flesh more and more, so that he could never get 
enough, if they died from natural causes. 

Hinun kept the maiden with him until he learned that her 
ugly old suitor was dead. Then he bade her return and tell 
her tribe what she had learnt from Hinun. 

She taught them all he had told her, and begged them to 
break up their settlement and move nearer the lake; and 
her words prevailed. For a while sickness ceased, but it 
broke out again, for the serpent was far too cunning to be so 
easily outwitted. He dragged himself slowly but surely 
after the people, and but for Hinun would have built a lair 
under the new settlement as he had done under the old one. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH ■ 107 

Hinun watched his approach until he neared the creek, then 
he launched a thunderbolt at him. A terrible noise awoke 
all the dwellers by the lake, but the serpent was only injured 
not killed. Hinun was forced to launch another thunder- 
bolt, and another, and another, before, finally, the poisoner 
was slain. 

The great dead snake was so enormous that, when the 
Indians laid his body out in death, it stretched over more 
than twenty arrow flights, and as it floated down the 
waters of the Niagara, it was as if a mountain appeared 
above them. His corpse was too large to pass the rocks, 
so it became wedged between them, and the waters rose over 
it mountains high. As the weight of the monster pressed 
on the rocks, they gave way, and thus were formed the 
Horseshoe Falls. 

— Anonymous. 

58.— WHY THE BEAR HAS NO TAIL 

A cunning fox one day saw a wagon-load of fish, and re- 
sorted to a ruse to obtain some of the delicacy. Feigning 
to be dead, he laid himself in the road by which the fisher- 
man must pass, who, thinking the skin of the fox worth 
preserving, tossed him into his wagon, and drove on. The 
fox lay quiet long enough to see that the fisherman sus- 
pected no trick. Then he quietly threw several fish out of 
the wagon, and slyly followed them himself. 

While he was devouring the fish, he met a wolf, who was 
anxious to secure a feast for himself. The fox kindly ex- 
plained his own business methods, and the wolf went off 
to try them himself. But by the time the wolf had caught 
up with the fisherman, the latter had discovered the trick 
that the fox had played on him. So the wolf got a beating 
instead of a mess of fish. 



108 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

The wolf returned to settle scores with the fox, and 
found his friend in earnest conversation with a bear. He 
had just finished explaining to the bear his methods for 
fish-catching, and Bruin was about to set out to try his 
fortune, when the wolf arrived on the scene, and told his 
story, making no bones of accusing the fox of falsehood. 
Bruin's faith was shaken, and he was at no pains to conceal 
his own suspicions of Reynard. The fox was nettled at the 
reflections on his honesty, and made up his mind that he 
might as well be a liar as be thought one. In the face of the 
angry wolf and the suspicious bear, he appeared to weaken, 
and concocted a new story. He turned to the bear and 
said: 

"Well, I'll tell you the truth. Down at the river you 
will find an air-hole in the ice; just put your tail down into 
it, as I did, and you can draw out the fish as fast as you 
.wish." 

The bear hurried off to the river, grinning a huge grin at 
the prospect of a fish-fry. He found the air-hole in the ice, 
and carefully inserted his tail. He waited for develop- 
ments, as patiently as a bear could, considering the cold 
weather. The fish did not seem to nibble at bear tail as 
readily as they had at fox-tail, but finally, Bruin felt a 
great twitch, and he was sure that a big fish was at his tail. 
He rose up from the ice with a mighty jerk, certain that a 
fish would follow after. But alas! when he looked around 
he found neither fish nor — tail. The cold was so great that 
his tail had been frozen off, and the twitch, which he imag- 
ined was a fish's bite, was nothing else than the snapping 
off of his very useful member. And from that day to this 
the bear has gone without a tail. 

— Anonymous. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 109 

59.— THE LOVE OF KNOWLEDGE 

The four sons of Ethelwulf, king of the Saxons, had an 
abundance of tutors and instructors, but profited very little 
by their opportunities. The youngest of them was twelve 
years old before any of them knew how to read or write, 
and it was the youngest, Alfred, who learned first. 

The stepmother of the young princes was very little 
older than themselves, but she had been well educated in 
the schools of her native Provence, and was sorely grieved 
to find her stepsons so completely ignorant and so utterly 
devoid of any desire for knowledge. She made up her 
mind that she would change the state of things, and cast 
about for a way. It was impossible to begin anything 
like a regular class, for, as long as the weather permitted, 
the four boys spent all their days in hawking, hunting, 
wrestling, leaping, pitching the bar, and riding at the ring — 
the sports of the Saxons. But on wet, cheerless days, when 
these sports were impossible, the queen gathered them 
together, and told them the beautiful stories of her own 
Provence and the tales of their Saxon fathers. By degrees 
the boys began to take delight in these talks. Without 
waiting for an invitation, they frequently gathered round 
their royal stepdame, and entreated her to recite some of 
the wondrous tales or to read them from her books. 

One day, when the boys came in to the queen, she held 
in her hand a volume, which was bound in rose-colored 
velvet, richly embroidered with bullion flowers, and starred 
and clasped with gold. The queen was quick to see that 
the boys had perceived the beauty of the book. She 
opened it, and showed them the fair vellum pages, the 
illuminations — pictures of saints and warriors and angels — 
and the flowers and designs traced with the greatest deli- 
. cacy on the margins of each page. And while they ad- 



110 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

mired all the beauties that caught their eyes, she explained 
how the beauties of the story were greater than any of those 
which they were able to perceive. 

"To which of us will you give the book, lady mother? 77 
demanded the princes eagerly. 

"To the one who shall first learn to read it," she replied. 

The three elder princes hung their heads, and retreated 
from the room, for they were all of an indolent disposition; 
and though they earnestly desired to possess the book, they 
could not resolve to take the trouble of learning to read it. 
Young Alfred, however, modestly approaching his step- 
mother, asked her if she would trust him with the volume 
for a little while. 

The queen knew that he would be careful of the book, and 
readily granted his request. Alfred kissed her hand, and 
thanked her for her kindness. Seeking the aid of a tutor, 
whose instructions he had hitherto neglected, the lad soon 
acquired a knowledge of the alphabet. After this, so great 
was his application that, in less time than the queen had 
imagined it would require to gain the common rudiments 
of reading, he came to her, and with equal grace and 
spirit read to her the volume, and claimed the prize. 

From that hour Alfred omitted no opportunity for the 
improvement of his mind. It was in the acquisition of 
knowledge alone that he took pleasure. He divided his 
days and nights into regular portions, each of which he 
devoted to some study. During his father's reign, he 
acquired a proficiency in both the ancient and modern 
languages, a knowledge of history, and, what was better 
for a future king, of the laws of the wisest nations. So 
general and extensive, indeed, were his acquirements, and 
so admirable was the use which he made of them, that he 
was in the course of time considered one of the wisest and 
best of kings. —Anonymous. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 111 

60.— BURNT CAKES 

After the defeat of the Saxons by the Danes at Chippen- 
ham, King Alfred wandered aimlessly about the country, 
and one day got bewildered in the marshes. He con- 
cluded that he should have to pass the night in this doleful 
place. He paused, and looked around him, and observed 
cattle feeding in a distant pasture. These he knew, of 
course, must have an owner; so he made his way through 
quags and over ditches and miry pools to the spot where 
they were, and fortunately arrived at the very moment 
when the old neatherd, who had charge of them, was 
preparing to lead them home to house them for the night. 

The king explained to the old man his plight, and was 
kindly invited by him to share in such hospitality as he was 
able to offer. When they came to the neatherd's shieling, 
the incognito king found that the neatherd's wife was an- 
other kind of person from her husband. He could hardly 
have found a worse shrew in all his kingdom. The little 
hospitality she could give him she openly begrudged, and 
gave even of her poor fare so stingily as to call down the 
wrath of her meek husband. To this good man Alfred 
discovered his identity, but kept it concealed from the wife, 
Switha, as he had good reason to fear that her tongue 
would reach farther than he desired his name to go under his 
present circumstances. 

The neatherd was full of devotion to his king, and in- 
sisted on his making his lowly cot his home as long as he 
wished — much to the disgust of his better half. She did 
all in her power to make the poor king feel that he was not 
welcome. To escape from her angry clamor Alfred spent 
whole days in hunting in the adjoining moors and marshes. 
But one day it happened he could not leave the house be- 
cause of the inclement weather, and he was forced against 



112 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

his will to stay at home and suffer the virago's company. 
She had prepared a goodly batch of oaten cakes which she 
placed on the hearth to bake, and charged Alfred to have a 
care that they did not burn. The poor king's mind was so 
busied with sad thoughts of his miserable country that he 
forgot all about the cakes until they took fire and his indig- 
nant hostess was attracted by the smell of their burning. 

d If she had berated h m before, this last offense drew down 
on him a tirade which he had not expected even from her. 
But he bore it patiently, and said not a word until she was 
completely exhausted by her effort. Then he meekly prom- 
ised amendment. But a soft answer could not turn away 
her wrath. She assured him that his portion of the week's 
bread was what he had burnt and not another mouthful 
would he touch until he had eaten all that he had burnt. 

e The prospect was not a bright one, and luckily for the 
king before the week was done he had overcome the invad- 
ing Danes, and was eating good white bread instead of 
oaten cakes. But history does not tell what the sharp- 
mouthed wife of the neatherd thought or said when she 
learnt who was the meek guest who had so patiently borne 
her revilings. There is more than a suspicion, however, 
that her husband had to accept a worse penance than a 
week of burnt oaten cakes when she discovered that he had 
known the secret of the king's identity and had not revealed 

it to her. 

— Anonymous. 

61.— THE WERE-WOLF 

a King Edgar had just emerged from the depths of a forest 
on the borders of Shropshire. He paused to survey the 
features of the country, and perceived a ring-fence before 
him, which enclosed several hides of land, apparently in 
rich cultivation. On one side a fallow field lay waiting for 
the autumn sowing; close by the barley was whitening for 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 113 

harvest. The first golden wheatsheaf of the year reared its 
plumy head on a stubble furrow, whence it had been shorn 
that morning, while the tall ears of ripened corn, as yet un- 
cut, waved heavily around, as if inviting the sickle of the 
loitering husbandman to gather its abundant treasures; 
but the fields were deserted, for it was about the hour of 
eleven, and the laborers were all at dinner. 

Suddenly the shriek of frightened children rang out. It 
came from a meadow beyond the cornfield. The shriek 
was repeated. The king leaped from his horse, and pushed 
forward through the corn. In a few moments he came in 
sight of two children, a boy and a girl, standing face to face 
with a great wolf and so thoroughly frightened as to be 
unable to do anything but cry. It was easy for the king 
to see that he had come only in time to save the little ones. 

The wolf was growling angrily. His eyes glared like fire; 
his rough hairs bristled round his savage neck; he gnashed 
his long white teeth, and drawing up his back, prepared 
himself for a spring which, in all probability, would have 
proved fatal to the children. At that moment the twang 
of a bowstring was heard, and an arrow whistled over the 
heads of the children into the heart of the wolf; — who never 
lifted himself from the ground. 

The king rushed forward to quiet the frightened children. 
Then he turned to examine the wolf, and found that it was 
quarry worthy even of a royal huntsman, for it was the very 
were-wolf that for months had worried all the countryside. 

— Anonymous. 

62.— THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR 

Night was closing in when Asceline Fitz- Arthur drew near 
the scenes of his childhood. He could not repress the 
bitter tears which filled his eyes when the white spires and 



114 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

stately arches of the new-built abbey of St. Stephen's rose 
in all its solemn splendor before him on the spot where once 
had stood the gray towers of his father's castle. 

While he paused to gaze upon a scene once so familiar — 
now so strange — the abbey bells began to toll a death- 
knell. Soon he perceived a train of horsemen, clothed in 
black array, with lighted torches, whose red glare gleamed 
far over hill and dale, and was reflected in the dark waters 
of the Orne, along whose banks the cavalcade slowly wound. 
They were following a plumed and canopied bier, which 
was preceded and attended by a procession of monks chant- 
ing a dirge. 

It was the funeral of the Conqueror. They were carrying 
him to the abbey of St. Stephen's which he himself had 
founded, and where he had always desired to be laid away. 
As this thought came into the mind of Asceline Fitz- Arthur, 
a great lump leaped to his throat. He could hardly for- 
bear crying out at the thought of the man, who had op- 
pressed his father, and robbed his mother and himself, being 
buried in the very spot where his father's castle had stood. 
The shadow of a resolution crossed his face, as he entered 
the church of the abbey. 

Shrouding himself from observation behind one of the 
pillars, Fitz-Arthur waited with a beating heart the ap- 
proach of the funeral procession. It entered with the pomp 
of regal state. The coffin, adorned with the ducal crown 
of Normandy and the royal diadem of England, was borne 
on a black velvet bier, whose lofty canopy was surmounted 
with sable plumes. It was carried by nobles and knights in 
armor, and surrounded by bishops, bearing large wax 
tapers, and by white-robed priests singing the Miserere. The 
Conqueror's son, Prince Henry, in his long black mantle of 
estate attended as chief mourner; and thus did the remains 
of the mighty William of England proceed down the long 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



115 



aisles of St. Stephen's abbey to the grave prepared in the 
chancel. 

The mass was said. The Bishop of Evreux had pro- 
nounced the panegyric; the body was about to be lowered 
into the grave; when the voice of Fitz- Arthur startled all 
present: 

"He whom you have praised was a robber. The very 
land on which you stand is mine. By violence he took it 
from my father; and in the name of God I forbid you to 
, bury him in it." 

The words cast every one into consternation. The 
prince stood forth, and challenged the intruder, but Fitz- 
Arthur was as firm as Henry was imperious. The honest 
anger, the just indignation, that showed in his eye, awed the 
prince. There was debate among the prince and some of 
his counselors, and it was agreed to give Fitz-Arthur sixty 
shillings for the grave and as a pledge that he would after- 
ward receive the full value of his father's land. — And stories 
tell that when Prince Henry became Henry the First, Beau- 
clerc, he made Asceline Fitz-Arthur a belted knight, and 
ever treated him with every token of respect. 

— Anonymous. 



63.— THE LEGEND OF TELL 

The cap of the Emperor of Austria hung in the market- 
place of Altdorf, and many a craven Swiss had done it 
homage at the bidding of the tyrant Gessler. That homage 
William Tell refused to give. Gessler summoned Tell into 
his presence. He stormed at the peasant, but the cross- 
bow-man of Burglen was made of stuff too strong to weaken 
before a tyrant. Gessler 's cruel eyes gleamed malevo- 
lently. He noticed the child of the peasant beside him. 
He turned to a soldier, and said: 

"Take this boy 7 tie him beneath yon linden tree in the 



116 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



a J center of the market-place, and place an apple on his head. 

1 1 would see a specimen of his father's skill." 
b f The tyrant's commands were done. Tell was placed 
face to face with his child. The tyrant still wore his sar- 
donic smile, as he turned to the father, and said: 

" Your life, if you can cleave the apple on the boy's head." 

"And if I do not?" asked Tell. 

"You die." 

"Risk my boy to save my own life! My choice is made. 
I die." 

"Aye," said the tyrant, "but unless you shoot, before 
you are killed, the child will be slain before your own eyes." 

"Give me my bow," exclaimed Tell in a hoarse, deep 
voice, "but in mercy let the child's face be turned from 
me." 

The soldiers turtied the boy's face away from his father. 
A peasant bade the child stand firm. Then there was a 
sudden pause of awe and expectation among the dense 
crowd which had gathered round the group planted within 
a bow-shot of the linden-tree beneath which the child was 
bound. Tell, whose arms had been released from the 
pinions which had bound them, unbuckled the quiver which 
was slung across his shoulder, and carefully examined his 
arrows, one by one. He selected two: one of them he 
placed in his girdle, the other he fixed to his bowstring; 
and then he raised his eyes to heaven, and his lips moved in 
prayer. He relied not upon his own skill, but he asked the 
assistance of One in whose hands are the issues of life and 
death. The trembling, agitated hand, that a moment be- 
fore shook with the strong emotion of a parent's fears, be- 
came suddenly firm and steady; his swimming eyes resumed 
their keen, clear sight, and his mind recovered its wonted 
energy of purpose. 

So thrilling was the interest that when he discharged the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 117 

shaft, the sudden, sharp twang of his bowstring was an- 
swered by a general shriek. Then a woman's voice cried 
out: 

"The arrow hath cleft the apple in twain! The child is 
I safe!" 

Tell rushed forward to fold the boy in his arms, but be- 
fore he reached his darling, Gessler stopped him, and asked 
the purpose of the arrow which he had selected and placed 
in his belt. 

"If I had killed the boy," said Tell, "that arrow would 
I have been for you." 

— Anonymous. 

64.— A MOTHER'S PRAYER 

It was in the terrible days of the wars of the Roses. The 
battle of Northampton had been fought, and lost by the 
Lancastrians, and Margaret, the brave queen of Henry VI, 
was hurrying northward with the Prince of Wales, Edward, 
in the hope of finding safety from the Yorkists in the Court 
of Scotland. The queen and her boy had come to an open 
space in the midst of the forest wherein was said to reside 
the famous Robber of Hexham. It was nearly night. The 
glowworms were sparkling like so many little stars on the 
green velvet turf, and the dewdrops glittered on the herbs 
and tall blades of grass; the sweet summer moonlight shed 
a shadowy splendor on the quiet spot, and no sound was 
heard save the murmur of the light breeze, fanning the 
broad leaves of the chestnut and the oak. 

Suddenly a black and white spaniel leaped barking from 
the thicket. The queen was filled with great alarm at this 
indication of inhabitants whom she would prefer not to 
meet, but her terror amounted to agony, when she per- 
ceived a man of gigantic stature and menacing appearance, 
advancing toward them with drawn sword. His dress 



118 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

was partly military, partly that of a forester; but the quick 
eye of Margaret perceived in an instant that, although he 
was evidently approaching them with hostile intentions, he 
did not wear the White Rose badge of the House of York in 
his plumed cap. 

The prince clung to his mother's garments, frightened at 
the unfriendly appearance of the stranger. 

The queen, with the ready presence of mind which be- 
longs to great characters, took the boy by the hand, and 
advancing toward the man, whom she believed to be the 
infamous Robber of Hexham, said: 

" Behold the son of Henry, your king, and save him from 
. those who seek his life." 

The beauty and courage of the noble mother astonished 
the man no less than the loveliness of the child. He gazed 
for only one moment in doubt. Then he asked: 

"Lady, knowest thou me?" 

"He thou art whom men call the Robber of Hexham." 

"The same," he replied, "and your grace's most faithful 
servant," continued he, bending his knee and reverently 
kissing the queen's hand. "I know these forest ways bet- 
ter than most men. Permit me to conduct you and my 
. lord, the prince, to a place of safety." 
f He led them to a forest cave, hidden among the fern and 
brambles, where they rested till the morning. As soon as 
the sun rose, he led them forth on their way to Scotland. It 
was only a few days before the Robber of Hexham brought 
them to the presence of the Queen of Scotland from whom 
Margaret received encouragement to continue the struggle 

in England. 

— Anonymous. 

65.— A STRANGE HOG 

a During the American Revolution, a regiment of British 
foot was stationed upon the confines of the boundless Savan- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 119 

nah. One morning, the sentinels having been detailed as 
usual over night, the guard went at sunrise to relieve a post 
which extended a considerable distance into the wood. 
The sentinel was gone; the surprise was great, but the cir- 
cumstance had occurred before — sometimes they deserted, 
sometimes they were ambushed by the Americans or In- 
dians. The guard left another man, and departed, wishing 
him better luck. The man told them with warmth not to 
fear for him — he would not desert. The sentinels were 
replaced every four hours, and at the appointed time, the 
guard again marched to relieve the post. To their inex- 
pressible astonishment the man was gone! They searched 
around the post, but no traces could be found of his disap- 
pearance. It was necessary for a stronger motive than 
ever that the post should not be left unoccupied; they were 
compelled to leave another man, and returned, ruminating 
on the strange occurrence, to the guard-house. The super- 
stition of the soldiers was aroused. The terror of some- 
thing preternatural ran through the regiment. The colonel 
being apprized of the facts determined to accompany the 
guard when they relieved the sentinel whom they had left. 
At the appointed time they marched out to the post, and to 
their unutterable wonder found the post vacant and the 
man gone. 

The cause of the disappearance of three brave men must 
be discovered! The man whose turn it was to take the 
post, though in other respects of unconquerable resolution, 
trembled from head to foot. 

"I must do my duty," he said to the officer, "but I would 
like to lose my life with more credit/ ' 

"I will leave no man against his will," said the colonel. 
c r A man stepped from the ranks and asked to take the post. 
-j Every mouth commended his resolution. 
[ "I will not be taken alive," he said. "You will hear 



120 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



from me on the least alarm. If a crow chatters or a leaf 
falls, you will hear my musket. You may be alarmed when 
nothing is the matter. You must submit to that as a con- 
. dition of discovery/ ' 

The colonel applauded his courage, and told him to fire 
on the least ambiguous noise. His comrades shook hands 
with him, and left him with a melancholy foreboding. The 
company marched back, and waited the event in the guard- 
house with the most anxious curiosity. 

An hour had passed, and every ear was upon the rack for 
the discharge of the musket, when upon a sudden the re- 
port was heard. The company marched back to the post on 
the instant, accompanied by the colonel and by some of the 
most experienced officers of the regiment. As they ap- 
proached the post, they saw the guard advancing toward 
them dragging another man over the ground by the hair of 
his head. The man he was dragging proved to be an Indian 
whom he had shot. 

The soldier told his experience to his colonel. He had 
not been long at his post when he heard a rustling some dis- 
tance away. He looked, and saw an American hog, such as 
are common in the woods, crawling along the ground and 
seemingly looking for nuts under the trees and among the 
leaves. He was inclined to pay little attention to the ani- 
mal, but being in a state of intense nervous excitement and 
not knowing where to look for an attack, his eyes followed 
the hog. It never struck him that he had any danger to 
apprehend from a hog, but it did seem strange that the ani- 
mal should be making by a circuitous course for a coppice 
immediately behind his post. The peculiarity of its mo- 
tions tempted him to fire, but he restrained himself, think- 
ing what a laugh his companions would raise, if he alarmed 
them by shooting a pig. The animal was just approaching 
the thicket, when he thought he observed an unusual 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 121 

spring. He took aim, discharged his piece, and the pig 
was stretched before him with a groan which he was sure 
was human. He drew nearer to the pig, and found that he 
had killed an Indian. He was armed with a dagger and a 
tomahawk. The mystery of the other sentinels was 

solved * —Anonymous. 

66.— WOODEN MEN 

During the early part of the Revolutionary War, an Ameri- 
can sergeant and twelve of his men undertook a journey 
through the wilderness of the State of New Hampshire. 
Nothing material happened during the first day of their ex- 
cursion; but early in the afternoon of the second day, they 
discovered a band of Indians advancing toward them, 
whose number rather exceeded their own. As soon as the 
whites perceived their red brethren, the latter made signals 
and the two parties approached each other in amicable 
manner. The Indians appeared to be much gratified to 
meet the sergeant and his men, whom they said they con- 
sidered as their protectors, since they belonged to a tribe 
not favorable to the British but to the Americans. They 
shook hands in token of friendship, and only separated 
after conversing with each other for some time and exchang- 
ing mutual good wishes. 

When the sergeant and his men had proceeded on their 
own way a mile or more, the sergeant halted his men, and 
addressed them: 

"My men, we must use the utmost caution, or this night 
will be our last. The Indians, whom we have just passed, 
are the most inveterate foes of the American cause. Their 
pretended friendship is a mask to lull our fears to sleep. 
We must guard ourselves against them. They will prob- 
ably attack us to-night. " 

The men were astounded at the words of their leader, but 



122 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

they knew his acquaintance with the various Indian tribes 
was such that he could not be mistaken. The spot se- 
lected for their night's encampment was near a stream of 
water which served to coyer their rear. They felled a large 
tree, before which, on the approach of night, a brilliant fire 
was lighted. Each individual cut a log of wood about the 
size of his body, rolled it nicely in his blanket, placed his hat 
upon the end, and laid the dummy before the fire. After 
they had fitted up as many logs as there were men in the 
party, and had settled them in various attitudes of repose 
around the fire, the men with loaded muskets placed them- 
selves in the shadow behind the fallen tree. The fire was 
kept burning brilliantly until late in the evening, when it 
was allowed to die down. That was the right time for an 
Indian attack, but the men rested in their place of conceal- 
ment until near midnight before they perceived any move- 
ment of the enemy. 

A tall Indian was perceived, by the glimmering of the 
dying fire, cautiously moving toward them. He made no 
noise, and apparently was making every effort in his power 
to conceal himself from every one about the camp. For a 
time he seemed to fear that there might be some one on 
guard, but all appearing quiet, he ventured forward, and 
standing on tiptoes was distinctly seen to move his finger 
as he numbered the logs of wood sleeping around the fire. 
To satisfy himself of the number, he counted them over a 
second time, and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by 
a second Indian, who went through the same movements, 
and retired in the same manner. Soon after, the whole 
party, sixteen in number, were discovered cautiously ap- 
proaching, and greedily eying their supposed victims. The 
feelings of the sergeant's men can better be imagined than 
described, when they saw the designs of their foes, who 
were now so near that they could scarcely be restrained 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 123 

from firing on them. The plan of the sergeant, however, 
was that his men should remain quiet in their places till the 
muskets of the savages were discharged, so that their own 
fire might be more effectual and the opposition less for- 
midable. 

The suspense was not of long duration. The Indians 
stealthily approached till within a short distance; they 
then halted, took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces, 
gave the war-whpop, and instantly rushed forward with 
tomahawk and scalping- knife in hand to despatch the living 
and obtain the scalps of the dead. In that instant the ser- 
geant and his men fired their pieces with the aim of woods- 
men, and the sixteen Indians fell forward on their faces, 
every one of them with a bullet through a vital part. 

— Anonymous. 

67.— YANKEE DOODLE 

In the early part of 1755, great exertions were made by 
the British ministry to reduce the Fench power in the 
provinces of the Canadas. To carry the project into effect, 
General Amherst was appointed to the command of the 
British arms in North- Western America, and the British 
colonies in America were called upon for assistance. These 
voted their quotas of troops with alacrity. 

The British army was encamped on the eastern banks of 
the Hudson, a little south of the city of Albany and at this 
camp in the early part of June the troops from the eastern 
colonies began to arrive. A more motley assemblage had 
never before gathered together, unless it were the ragged 
regiment of Sir John Falstaff of right merry and facetious 
memory. It would have relaxed the gravity of an anchor- 
ite to have seen the descendants of the Puritans marching 
through the streets of Albany to take their stations on the 
left of the British army: some with small coats and others 



124 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



with no coats at all, as varied as the rainbow, some with 
their hair cropped, like the army of Cromwell, and others 
with wigs whose curls flowed with grace around their 
shoulders. Their march, their accouterments, and the 
whole arrangement of the troops, furnished matter of 
amusement to the wits of the British army. The music 
was of two centuries agone; the tout ensemble exhibited a 
sight to the wandering strangers that they had been un- 
accustomed to in their native land. 

Among the club of wits that belonged to the British 
army, there was a physician attached to the staff, named 
Shackburg, who combined with the talents of a surgeon the 
skill of a musician. To please Brother Jonathan he com- 
posed a tune, and with much gravity recommended it to the 
officers as one of the most celebrated airs of martial music. 
The joke took to the no small amusement of the British 
troops. In a few days nothing was heard but Yankee 
Doodle. Little did the author and his coadjutors then 
suppose that an air made for the purpose of levity and 
ridicule would be marked for such destinies. In twenty 
years from that time, Yankee Doodle inspired the hearts of 
the heroes of Bunker Hill, and in less than thirty years from 
that time Lord Cornwallis and his army marched into the 
American lines to the tune of Yankee Doodle. 

— Anonymous. 



68.— THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLISEUM 

Stilicho had turned back the Gotjis at Pollentia, and 
Rome was celebrating the triumph. The great processions 
were over, and the shows in the Coliseum well under way. 
There had been foot races, horse races, chariot races, a wild- 
beast hunt, a sword dance. After the sword dance came 
the combat of the gladiators. The people were enchanted, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 125 

and applauded with shouts of ecstacy this gratification of 
their savage tastes. Suddenly, however, there was an 
interruption. 

A rude, roughly clad man, bare-headed and bare-footed 
r had sprung into the arena, and signing back the gladiators, 
began to call aloud upon the people to cease from the shed- 
ding of innocent blood and to requite God's mercy in turn- 
ing away the enemy by some other sacrifice than that of 
innocent blood. Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his 
words; they wanted no Christian sermons, they wanted the 
ancient customs of Rome: 

"Back, old man! On, gladiators !" 

The gladiators thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to 
the attack. But the old man stepped back between them, 
holding them apart and striving to be heard. 

"Sedition! sedition! down with him!" was the cry, and 
Aly^ius, the prefect of the city, who presided, added his 
. voice to that of the mob. 

The gladiators, enraged at any interference with their 
calling, cut him down. Stones or whatever else came to 
hand rained on the old man from the furious people, and he 
perished in the midst of the arena. He lay there stark and 
dead, and — then came to that rude mob a realization of 
what they had done. 

His dress showed that he was one of the Christians who 
had vowed themselves to a holy life of prayer and self- 
denial, and who were greatly reverenced even by the most 
thoughtless. The few who knew anything of him told that 
he had come from the wilds of Asia to visit the shrines of 
Rome and to keep his Christmas at the tombs of the Apos- 
tles — they knew he was a holy man — no more. Not even 
of his name were they certain; some said it was Alymachus, 
some that it was Telemachus. His spirit had been stirred 
by the sight of thousands flocking to see men slaughter one 



126 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

another, and in his simple-hearted zeal he had resolved to 
stop the cruelty or to die. He had died, but not in vain. 
His work was done. The shock of such a death opened the 
eyes of the blinded people. They saw the cruelty of those 
old gladiatorial shows, and from the day when the hermit 
died in the Coliseum, there was never another fight of gladia- 
tors. — An humble, obscure, nameless man had wiped away 
the crime, that for centuries had stained the name of 
Rome. — Anonymous. 

69.— AT THE PRAYER OF THE QUEEN 

For a year Calais had withstood the siege of Edward of 
England, but at last, cut off from all supplies and despairing 
of help from Philip of France, who had come near enough to 
let them see his banners but not to feel his help, the inhab- 
itants were forced to ask terms of surrender. They were will- 
ing to yield the city and fortress, if Edward would allow the 
citizens and soldiers to depart in peace. The only sur- 
render that the king of England would accept was on uncon- 
ditional terms, leaving him at liberty to slay or to free or to 
make prisoners as he pleased. To these conditions the gov- 
ernor of Calais nobly replied that he and his knights had 
suffered much, but not enough to induce them to agree to 
terms of surrender that would jeopardize the life of even a 
single boy in their city. 

The herald of the king returned to his royal master, and 
asked for more favorable terms. The barons of the council 
urged clemency, but all that their prayers could win from 
the king was that he would pardon the garrison and towns- 
men on condition that six of the chief citizens should present 
themselves to him, coming forth with bare feet and heads, 
with halters round their necks, carrying the keys of the 
town, and becoming absolutely his own to punish for their 
obstinacy as he thought fit. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 127 

The messenger carried the hard word to the city. The 
bell was rung in the market-place. The inhabitants came 
together in the town-hall. When he told them of these 
hard terms, he wept, and the citizens wept with him, but 
one voice spoke out clear and unshaken: 

" Messieurs, high and low, it would be sad pity to suffer so 
many people to die through hunger. I have such faith and 
trust in finding grace before God, if I die to save my towns- 
men, that I name myself first of the six." 

It was Eustache de St. Pierre who spoke, and five other 
rich and powerful burghers readily joined him. The gov- 
ernor led them out a little beyond the city, and delivered 
them up to the messenger of the king, who led them bare- 
foot and bare-headed, with halters around their necks, and 
with the keys of the city in their hands, into the presence of 
Edward. 

Strong emotion was excited among all the barons and 
knights who stood round, as they saw the resigned counte- 
nances, pale and thin with patiently endured hunger, of 
those venerable men offering themselves in the cause of 
their fellow-townsmen. Many tears of pity were shed, but 
the king still showed himself implacable, and commanded 
that they should be led away to the place of execution and 
their heads stricken off. The nobles entreated the king for 
clemency, they begged him not to stain his name with so 
bloody a deed. He was obstinate. The headsman had 
been sent for, when Queen Philippa, her eyes streaming 
with tears, threw herself on her knees among the burghers, 
and said : 

" Gentle Lord, for the sake of the Son of the Blessed Mary 
and for your love to me I beg you show mercy to these 
men." 

The king loved his good queen, and when he looked on 
her tear-stained face, his hardened soul was stirred to pity. 



128 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

He yielded to her request, and gave the burghers to her to 
do with them as she willed. She took them to her own 
apartments, had them clothed in new garments, entertained 
them with a splendid dinner, and dismissed them each with 
a gift of six nobles. —Anonymous. 

70.— A CONVICT BY CHOICE 

The Count de Joigni was inspector-general of the galleys. 
In making the round of these miserable ships, the Count 
was frequently accompanied by the Abbe de Paul, a tutor 
in his family. The two men were often struck by the hor- 
rible state of the convicts, their half-naked misery, and still 
more by their fiendish ferocity. The tutor was touched, 
and asked permission of the Count to minister to the wants 
of these unfortunates. He worked with such good success 
that he was soon made almoner-general of the galleys. 

Once while visiting those at Marseilles, he was much 
struck by the broken appearance and exceeding sorrow of 
one of the convicts. He entered into conversation with 
him, and after many kind words persuaded him to tell his 
troubles. His misery was far less for his own condition 
than for his wife and family. The Abbe de Paul found an 
easy solution for the man's troubles. — He changed places 
with the convict. 

Probably some arrangement had been made with the 
immediate jailer of the gang. At any rate the prisoner 
went free, whilst the priest wore a convict's chain, did a 
convict's work, lived on convict's fare, and what was 
worse, had only convict society. He was soon sought out, 
and released, but the hurts he had received from the pres- 
sure of the chain lasted all his life. He never spoke of this 
event; it was kept a strict secret, and only became known 
through a letter to a friend, which against his wish was not 
returned and suppressed. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 129 

It would seem that it would be a dangerous precedent and 
one to be severely punished for prison chaplains to change 
places with their charges. Still the Abbe de Paul does not 
seem to have been punished for the act; at least he did not 
lose his position as chief almoner, and he was able to work on 
the consciences of the convicts with all the more force for 
having been for a time one of themselves. All his life was 
devoted to bettering their conditions, though it must be 
confessed that after his death much of their old misery re- 

turned - -Anonymous. 

71.— THE WOMEN OF WEINSBERG 

In the beginning of the contest known as the strife of the 
Guelfs and Ghibellines, Wolf, Duke of Bavaria, was be- 
sieged in his castle of Weinsberg by Frederick, Duke of 
Suabia, brother of the reigning emperor, Conrad III. The 
siege lasted long, but Wolf was at last forced to offer to sur- 
render, and he was granted permission to depart in safety. 

Considering the length of the siege, the easiness of the 
terms was a little surprising. Wolfs wife did not trust the 
fair offer of the emperor. She had reason to believe that 
Conrad had a peculiar enmity to her husband ; and on his 
coming to take possession of the castle, she sent to him to 
beg a safe conduct for herself and all the other women in 
the garrison, that they might come out with as many of 
their valuables as they could carry. 

Now there is reason perhaps to believe that the enemy 
did have designs none too favorable towards the men of the 
fortress of Weinsberg, but the request of the women seemed 
so innocent and so frank that the emperor did not hesitate 
a moment in granting it. The castle gates were therefore 
opened in good time, and the women of the garrison came 
forth, — but in strange guise. No gold or silver, no treas- 



130 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ured heirlooms, no rich dresses, nothing that the enemy had 
imagined would be contained in the catalogue of valuables, 
did they carry with them. Still they were heavily bur- 
dened, most of them barely able to stagger along beneath 
their load; for every woman among them all carried out on 
her back her husband, whom she thus hoped to save from 
the vengeance of the foe. 

For a moment Conrad may have been angered at being 
thus deceived by a band of women, but at heart he was a 
merciful and generous ruler, and it is said that he was af- 
fected to tears by this extraordinary performance. He 
hastened to assure the women of the perfect safety of their 
husbands, and that the gentlemen might alight at once, 
secure both of life and freedom. He invited them all to a 
banquet, and made a very lenient peace with the Duke of 
Bavaria. And from this incident of the Duchess and her 
women, the hill of Weinsberg was no longer called the Vine 
Hill, as it had been called so long, but the Weibertreue or 
woman's fidelity. 

— Anonymous. 

72.— URSUS AND THE BULL 

The Lygian giant Ursus blinked, dazed by the glitter of 
the arena; then he pushed into the center, gazing around as 
if to see what he had to meet. In Rome there was no lack 
of gladiators larger by far than the common measure of 
man, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. 
Senators, Vestals, Caesar, the Augustans, and the people 
gazed with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs as large 
as tree-trunks, at his breast as large as two shields joined 
together, and his arms of a Hercules. 

Suddenly the shrill sound of brazen trumpets was heard, 
and at the signal, a grating opposite Caesar's podium was 
opened, and into the arena rushed, amid the shouts of 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 131 

beast-keepers, an enormous German aurochs, and tied to it, 
the Lygian giant beheld, — Lygia, daughter of his own king, 
hostage to the Roman people, — the maiden whom from her 
infancy he had protected. 

When he saw her, his queen, on the horns of the wild 
beast, Ursus sprang as if touched by living fire, and bending 
forward, ran at the raging animal. He fell on him in a 
twinkling, and seized him by the horns. His feet sank in 
the sand to his ankles, his back was bent like a drawn bow, 
his head was hidden between his shoulders, on his arms the 
muscles came out so that the skin almost burst from their 
pressure; but he had stopped the bull in its tracks. And 
the man and the beast remained so still that the spectators 
thought themselves looking at a picture showing a deed of 
Hercules or Theseus, or a group hewn from stone. But in 
that apparent repose there was a tremendous exertion of 
two struggling forces. The bull sank his feet as well as did 
the man in the sand, and his dark, shaggy body was curved 
so that it seemed a gigantic ball. 

Which of the two would fail first, which would fall first, 
that was the question in the minds of all the spectators. 
Among them were men who had raised their arms and re- 
mained in that posture. Sweat covered the faces of others, 
as if they themselves were struggling with the beast. In 
the Circus nothing was heard save the crackle of flame in 
the lamps and of bits of coal as they dropped from the 
torches. Their voices died on the lips of the spectators, but 
their hearts were beating as if to split them. It seemed to 
all that the struggle was lasting for ages. But the man and 
the beast continued on in their monstrous exertion; one 
might have said that they were planted in the earth. 

Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from 
the arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every 
breast, and again there was silence. People thought them- 



132 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

selves dreaming till the enormous head of the bull began to 
turn in the iron hands of the giant. The face, neck and 
hands of the Lygian grew purple; his back bent still more. 
It was clear that he was rallying the remnant of his super- 
human strength, but that he could not last long. 

Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more 
painful grew the groan of the bull as it mingled with the 
whistling breath from the breast of the giant. The head of 
the beast turned more and more, and from his jaws came a 
long, foaming tongue. 

A moment more, and to the ears of the spectators sitting 
near came as it were the crack of breaking bones; then the 
beast rolled on the earth with his neck twisted in death. 

The giant removed in a twinkle the ropes from the horns 
of the bull, and raising the maiden in his arms, began to 
breathe hurriedly. His face became pale, his hair stuck 
together from sweat, his shoulders and arms seemed flooded 
with water. For a moment he stood as if only half con- 
scious; then he raised his eyes, and looked at the spectators. 

The amphitheater had gone wild. — The maiden's life had 
been saved by her faithful slave. 

— Henryk Sienkiewicz — "Quo Vadis." 

73.— THE FIGHT OF THE GLADIATORS 

Lanio, the Gaul, victor in many games, and Calendio, 
equally as successful, stood face to face in the center of the 
arena. The Gaul was heavily armed. With a great helmet 
on his head, and in mail which formed a ridge in front of his 
powerful breast and behind, he looked in the gleam of the 
arena like a giant beetle. Calendio was wholly unclad, save 
a belt around his loins. In one hand he held a net, in the 
other a trident. 

The battle opened. The Gaul began to withdraw, hold- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 133 

ing his sword pointed against his opponent, and lowering 
his head, he watched Calendio through the opening of his 
visor; the light retiarius, stately, statuesque, circled 
quickly about his heavy antagonist, waving his net with 
graceful movement, lowering or raising his trident, and 
singing the usual song of the retiarius: 

"I seek thee not, I seek a fish; 
Why flee from me, Gaul?" 

But the Gaul was not fleeing, for after a while he stopped, 
and standing in one place began to turn with barely a slight 
movement, so as to have his enemy always in front. In his 
form and monstrously huge head there was now something 
terrible. The spectators understood thoroughly that that 
heavy body encased in bronze was preparing for a sudden 
throw to decide the battle. The retiarius meanwhile sprang 
up to him, then sprang away, making with his three-pronged 
fork motions so quick that the eye hardly followed them. 
The sound of the teeth on the shield was heard repeatedly; 
but the Gaul did not quiver. All his attention seemed 
fixed, not on the trident, but on the net, which was circling 
above his head like a bird of ill omen. The spectators held 
the breath in their breasts, and followed the masterly play of 
the gladiators. The Gaul waited, chose the moment, and 
rushed on his antagonist; the latter with equal quickness 
shot past under his sword, straightened himself with raised 
arm, and threw the net. The Gaul turning where he stood, 
caught it on his shield, then both sprang apart. 

They began to struggle again, so regularly and with such 
precision in their movements, that sometimes it seemed 
that with them it was not a question of life and death, but 
of exhibiting skill. The Gaul escaping twice more from the 
net pushed toward the edge of the arena; those who held 
bets against him, not wishing the champion to rest, began to 
cry, "Bear on!" The Gaul obeyed, and attacked. The 



134 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

arm of the retiarius was covered on a sudden with blood, 
and his net dropped. The Gaul summoned his strength, 
and sprang forward to give the final blow. That moment 
Calendio, who feigned inability to wield the net, sprang 
aside, escaped the thrust, ran the trident between the knees 
of his opponent, and brought him to the earth. 

The Gaul tried to rise, but in a twinkle he was covered by 
the fatal meshes, in which he was entangled more and more 
by every movement of his feet and hands. Meanwhile 
stabs of the trident fixed him time after time to the earth. 
He made one vain effort, rested on his arm, and tried to rise; 
in vain! He raised to his head his failing hand, which 
could no longer hold the sword, and fell on his back. Ca- 
lendio pressed his neck to the ground with the trident, and 
resting both hands on the handle of it, turned towards 
Caesar's box. 

Caesar turned his thumb to the earth. Calendio knelt on 

the breast of the Gaul, drew a short knife from his belt, 

pushed apart the armor around the neck of his opponent, 

and drove the three-edged blade into his throat to the 

handle. 

— Henryk Sienkiewicz — "Quo Vadis." 

74.— THE SEJAN STEED 

The Sejan steed stood in the temporary arena. He was 
the descendant of a race of man-eaters, and was himself 
more powerful and ferocious than any of his sires. How 
many victims he had already mangled and devoured was 
not positively known, but it was known that he had killed 
every man who had attempted to ride him. And now he 
stood in the arena. On either side grooms, who had led 
him in muzzled, held him by long thongs, fastened to his 
head harness. Beside him stood a youth, Paulus Aemilius 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 135 

Lepidus, who, to save a slave's life, was to ride the terrible 
beast to-day. On the youth's knees were greaves, which 
reached higher than the knee. His tunic was belted tight. 
He was examining a contrivance in the horse's housings, 
which was made of hide, and looked like a stirrup. 

The trumpet blew. Paulus slipped a pair of gloves on 
his hands, then he took from an attendant two truncheons 
a yard or more long, the tops black for more than a foot, the 
rest of them sheathed in bronze. Another attendant opened 
a lantern, which he carried in his hand. Paulus thrust the 
staves towards the light. The ends began to smoke. He 
was ready for the trial. 

He held the staves in his left hand, and away from his 
body. He drew nearer to the horse. He stood with his 
feet close together. He sprang clean from the ground to 
his seat on the horse's back. He seized the bridle with his 
right hand, carried it to his mouth, caught it between his 
teeth. He took one of the now blazing torches in his right 
hand. He slipped his feet into the stirrups, and signaled 
the grooms to loosen the muzzle and the leading thongs. 

The horse began a series of violent plunges. Then he 
suddenly reared till he gained a perpendicular position upon 
his hind legs, the fore-feet pawing the air. The rider, who 
seemed as little liable to fall as though he had been a part 
of the animal, quickly passed his right foot out of the stir- 
rup, and dropping the bridle from his teeth, slipped down 
on the hither side. The steed seemed to be very near fall- 
ing backward, but after a struggle of two or three seconds, 
he recovered himself, and his fore-paws struck the ground 
with a loud crash. Just as that ponderous thud sounded 
through the arena, the youth darted from the ground with a 
spring like his first, and was again on the horse's back. He 
stooped to the horse's neck, and caught the bridle in his 
teeth. A wild cheer greeted the feat. 



136 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

The fell beast seemed astonished. He writhed, and 
curved his back like some monstrous catamount. He 
stooped his ferocious head, he shook it, he lashed out with 
his death-dealing hoofs, his master was upon him. It was 
all in vain. He turned his head to bring his teeth into 
play. He was met on either side by the flaming torch. 
He drew back. He began to tread the circle of the arena 
guided by the steady hands from which flames seemed to 
flow. Faster and faster he rushed, restrained by the outer 
torch which was brought near his head, while the inner was 
held further back. His sides were flecked with foam. The 
pace grew too rapid for a short curve, and the steed was 
guided straight for the western opening of the arena. They 
leaped at it, — the steed and his rider, — they were through it, 
and a shout like the roar of waters on a storm-beaten shore 
proclaimed the success of the youth. 

An hour passed, and the sun in wide-spreading garments 
of red and golden clouds had sunk level with the broad 
western opening of the amphitheater. Against this shield 
of red light was silhouetted the form of a horseman. It 
was Paulus Aemilius returning on the Sejan steed. The 
animal was enveloped in sweat and dust and foam, and 
drooped the head which he held so fiercely aloft two hours 
before. The rider had thrown away the torches, and now 
held the reins low down on either side, a little in front of the 
beast's shoulder. His hat was gone, and his brown locks 
were so touched by the light that he seemed to wear a head- 
gear of golden flames. Again the people and the army 
shouted, and he bowed in acknowledgment, and he smiled 
— but the smile was for the poor slave whose life he had 
saved. 

-—Gerald Miles Keon, " Dion and the Sibyls." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 137 

75.— THE PASSING OF THE VETERAN 

The game had not been on three minutes before Kehoe 
knew that they knew it. After each scrimmage the eyes of 
the little blue quarter, running in furtive examination along 
the orange-striped line a-quiver before him, closed uncon- 
sciously to a narrow, cunning streak as they passed Kehoe 
at left tackle; then with the bark of the signal the whole 
blu« avalanche struck him with a crumpling crash. With a 
quick, writhing motion the end, a Freshman whom he had 
never seen before, threw himself across his legs, while his 
old enemy, Horan, at tackle, butted head first above in an 
effort to bend him backward over the lithe living thing 
paralyzing him below. In rapid succession they made over 
him three yards, then two more, then five, with pounding 
cross-tackle bucks. Yes, they knew that his left leg was bad. 

They knew it and — he knew it. His left leg had been 
bad all season. In vivid fragments there flashed on him 
now the whole deplorable story of this his last season with 
the team — he, captain of the team, hero of so many battles, 
playing an inferior game at every practice; weighed down 
by that weak leg, and weighed down more by the discour- 
agement it caused him, feeling every day his grasp upon 
his position slipping away from before the vigorous youth 
of his Freshman substitute; making the team at the last 
moment only through the momentum of his previous 
achievements — and all through the struggle his college 
against him, the college for which he had toiled and fought 
so long; the whole college with thumbs down for him in 
the cold, cruel verdict that his day was gone — he ought to 
be out, and Cochran in. 

He believed it, but, oh! it was so hard to give up — he the 
Captain, he the idol of last year, and the year before, and 
the year before that. No! he could not. Why should he? 



138 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

He could stop that blue line that was hurled so relentlessly 
all this time right at him, down after down. He would 
stop them, he knew he would. But still on they rolled over 
him two yards, one yard, three yards, five yards on, on, on 
— at him like a pack of wolves, hungry for the last white 
line, welting his back with its stinging threat ever nearer 
and nearer. 

Just then Kehoe felt himself emerge from the midst of 
his own thoughts into the roar of the multitude in the 
stands. As he was being swept backward a fiendish cry 
hurtled into his ear, hammered into his brain, almost pound- 
ing him to earth with its concussion. The blue supporters 
were venting their frenzy, their hate, their exultation. 
Back in the stand, where his own orange and black waved, 
convulsed fists protruded, livid faces with distorted mouths 
cried at him, and the cry, the great urgent cry that came 
from them was, " Cochran! Cochran! 7 

Kehoe's eyes fell upon the side lines, and suddenly all the 
noise about seemed stilled. The roar of the multitude 
sank, departed into some hazy distance, became as the lone 
drone of a far-off sea. He was looking at Cochran on the 
side lines. The man was crouching on hands and knees, 
his head stretched forth as that of a hawk in flight, his 
nostrils dilated, his whole body pulsating with ferocious 
eagerness. Kehoe contemplated him for what seemed to 
him a long time, objectively, passively; and in that tense, 
taut-corded body, quivering like that of a tiger calculating 
his spring, he saw what was needed, and his own strength, 
his own desperate struggle, shrank to things ridiculous, 
futile as old age before the glory of youth. A sweet re- 
nunciation diffused a soft thrill of peace through him. 
" "Time!" 

Sharp, clear, it rang. Kehoe was lifting his arm to the 
.referee. The official blew his whistle. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 139 

"What's the matter?" 

"I'm going out," said Kehoe simply, and a great lump," 
even then, almost burst'his throat. But he walked firmly 
to the side lines, and forced the lump far enough down his 
throat to say to Cochran: 
"Get in." 

And as the substitute bounded out upon the field like a 
long-leashed-back blood-hound, a terrific tumult came 
from the stands, a great cry of relief, confidence, hope, of 
anger that has had its sway: 

"Cochran! Cochran! Cochran!" 
h Upon the face of Kehoe lying there, forgotten on the side 
lines, out of the arena where he had so often towered a hero, 
there trickled slowly a silyer drop. It corroded a zigzag 
path through the mud and grime and blood covering~the 
flesh, clung a moment at the corner of his mouth, then 
dropped swiftly to his hand. He looked at it for many 
seconds in wonder. 
i "Shucks," he said, suddenly scrambling to his feet. 
He looked out upon the field, and a smile streaked his 
visage. 
j Cochran, pawing like a young war-horse, had broken 
through the blue line, and pouncing upon a fumbled ball, 
had dashed twenty yards towards the blue goal. 
k Kehoe had won the game for his college, — and — it was the 
hardest game he ever played. 

— From "The Passing of the Vet," by James Hopper. Copy- 
right, 1904, by S, S. McClure Co. 

76.— WHEN THE ICE BROKE 

a f The ice had broken a week before, and for a week the 
■j river had been full of the floating bergs as they passed on 
I their way to the sea. One day late in the afternoon a boy 



140 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

" burst into a room at the foundry, and excitedly cried to the 
two men whom he found there: 

" There's somebody carried off in the ice by Skerret's 
Point. It looks like a woman. And there's nobody to 
I help!" 

A minute later the two men, Dick Wade and Bill Tarbox, 
stood on the river's edge. More than a mile away, below 
the hemlock-crested point, was the dark object, which the 
boy had seen, still stirring along the edges of the floating 
ice. A broad avenue of leaden-green water wrinkled by 
the cold wind separated the field, where the figure was 
moving, from the shore. The dark object and its footing 
of gray ice were drifting farther and farther away. 

The men had their minds made up. Not far from them 
was a skiff, a crazy old thing, wobbly, leaky, hardly fit for a 
row on a summer day, but it was the only boat at hand. 
They leaped into it, Dick Wade in the bow with a boat-hook 
in his hands, and Bill at the oars. 

In the leads of clear water the oarsman got brave pulls, 
and sent the boat on mightily. Then again in the thick 
porridge of brash ice they lost headw T ay, or were baffled and 
stopped among the cakes. Slow work, slow and painful, 
and for many minutes they seemed to gain nothing upon the 
steady flow of the merciless current. 

The frail boat bent, and cracked from stem to stern 
among the nipping masses. Water oozed in through her 
seams. Any moment a rougher touch or a sharper edge 
might cut her through. But that was a risk the men ac- 
cepted. They did not take time to think of it, nor to listen 
to the crackling and crunching of the hungry ice. They 
urged the boat straight on, steadily, eagerly, coolly, spend- 
ing and saving strength. 

There was not a moment to spare. A touch of the boat- 
hook cleft cakes that seemed strong enough to support a 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 141 

weight heavier than that of a woman, and the fact warned 
them to hasten. That, and what their eyes told them. 
The dark figure had drifted far below the hemlocks of the 
Point. It no longer stirred. It seemed to have sunk upon 
the ice and to be resting there weary and helpless. 

It was almost sunset. Suddenly the air was filled with 
perplexing snow-dust from a heavy squall. A white cur- 
tain dropped between the boat and the dark figure. There 
was nothing to steer by. Wade steered by his last glimpse 
— by the current — by the rush of the roaring wind — by 
instinct. 

The last sunbeams began to cut in. The thick snow- 
flurry was like a luminous cloud. Suddenly it drew aside, 
and Wade found himself almost near enough to the dark 
figure to see it was a woman, almost near enough to reach 
for her. Suddenly the ice parted beneath its burden, and 
the woman began to sink in the water. Just at that mo- 
ment Tarbox gave a mighty pull, and Wade was able to 
snatch the disappearing woman. Carefully, slowly, he 
drew her into the boat, and sturdily Tarbox rowed back to 
shore in order to resuscitate her and save her from the 
effects of the chill — and the deed of the heroes is not written 
in history. 

— Theodore Winthrop, " Love and Skates." 

77.— A BUMPING RACE 

The Cam at Cambridge is a narrow stream, scarcely 
wider than a canal. It is impossible for boats to race in it 
side by side. When the Cantabs want to race, they adopt 
an expedient peculiar to themselves. They draw up their 
boats in a line two boat lengths apart, and the contest 
consists in each boat attempting to touch with its bow the 
stern of the boat before it. This operation is called " bump- 



142 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ing, " and if the pursuing boat succeeds in bumping the 
boat before it, it is victor; if not, it is considered de- 
feated. 

In the year 18 — Caius was for some time head of the 
river, but Trinity had challenged the champions, and the 
last gun had sounded. With the flash of the gun the eight 
stalwart Caius men bent to their oars. They came on at a 
rapid rate, and with them the whole " cortege" of horse and 
foot that always attends on a race, running along the bank 
and cheering the boats. On, on they came around the up- 
per corner of the "Reach." The Caius men were rowing 
well but easily, taking a leisurely stroke as though there 
were no need of hurrying when Trinity was the pursuer. In 
fact Trinity had lost half a length. 

Suddenly there arose a mighty shout, "Trinity! Trinity! 
Go it, Trinity ! " Trinity was shooting forward with a magi- 
cal impulse after the first boat. The Caius crew looked like 
men in a nightmare; they pulled without making any head- 
way, while Trinity kept fast overhauling them at every 
stroke. Wild shouts broke from the banks, shouts of en- 
couragement and shouts of entreaty from the partisans of 
the two boats. The Caius men woke up, and their boat 
shot forward with a leap that sent a shiver of fear down the 
back of every friend of Trinity. 

But the promise of the Caius men was vain. The Trinity 
men, with long, slashing strokes, urged their boat closer and 
closer to the foe. Between the stern of Caius and the bow 
of Trinity not more than a foot intervened. The pursued 
pulled with all their might. They seemed to have some 
hope of escaping. Boats occasionally run a mile almost 
touching. But there was no more chance for Caius. One 
tremendous pull from Trinity, and half the distance be- 
tween them and Caius had disappeared. They all but 
touched. Another such stroke, and they would have 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 143 

bumped. From the banks came the exultant cry of the 
Trinitarians, "A bump! a bump!" 

Not so! The Caius steersman was on the lookout, and 
with a skillful inclination of the rudder he made his boat 
fall off — just the least bit in the world — but enough to pre- 
vent contact. Trinity overlapped, but did not touch. 

Exulting shouts from the shore' had hailed the dexterous 
evasion. Enraged at being thus baffled, the pursuers 
threw all their strength into a couple of strokes. The Caius 
men, knowing that this was their last chance, were doing 
their best to get away, but the other boat was upon them in 
a minute. Again the skill of the coxswain was brought into 
play, and again the pursuing boat overlapped without 
touching. But it was now clear that they were only de- 
laying their fate, not averting it; for the Trinity men, going 
four feet to their three, were running them into the further 
bank in a way that left no room for change of course. In a 
moment Trinity touched the stern of Caius, and in another 
moment her coxswain had hoisted her flag. She was head 
of the river. 

— Chas. A. Bristed, "Five Years in an English University." 

78.— THE EASTER BELLS OF FELDKIRCH 

The armies of the great Napoleon were sweeping over 
Europe in a tide of victory. No fort was strong enough to 
resist them; no number of men large enough to defend a 
city against them. 

On the frontiers of Austria was a little town called Feld- 
kirch. It had no more than three or four thousand inhab- 
itants, mostly God-fearing men. The great Napoleon found 
Feldkirch in his way as he advanced, and gave orders to one 
of his generals to take it, just as a housewife would order 
a servant to kill a fowl for dinner. The general selected 



144 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

was Massena; and one beautiful Easter morning, as the 
people arose to go to the first mass of the festival, they saw 
General Massena's forces, numbering eighteen thousand 
men, encamped on the heights above the town. The sun 
as it arose shone on long files of French muskets — a sad 
though glittering sight to the people who had been thinking 
only of their risen Lord. 

c Naturally there was the greatest consternation. No one 
knew the best course to pursue, so a hurried meeting of the 
town council was held. One thing all were agreed upon: — 
that it was useless to oppose the overwhelming forces of the 
enemy. Then some one arose, and suggested that a suit- 
able person be sent to the French camp with a flag of truce 
and the keys of the town, asking for some degree of mercy 
— that at least the women, children and old men might be 
spared, and a general sack, the awful accompaniment of 
war, be averted. 

d At this juncture an old and revered priest arose, and all 
listened with close attention; for his counsels had always 
been loving and wise. 
e(C) "My children/' he said, "this is Easter Day. Can not 
God, who rose from the dead, protect us in our distress? 
Shall our first act in this calamity be to forsake Him? We 
of ourselves can do nothing. What are we against that 
vast number awaiting the order to attack us? Let us go to 
church as usual, and trust to God for the rest." 

f At those brave and earnest words hope sprang up anew 
in the hearts of the faithful, and the various sextons were 
ordered to ring all the bells of the town as joyfully as pos- 
sible. Troops of people thronged the streets, and entered 
the churches; and one would not have known, except for 
that menacing host upon the hill, that anything had inter- 
fered with the happiness of those who were rejoicing in the 
Resurrection. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 145 

g And so the joy-bells rang, and rang, and rang; and the 
French, hearing them, took word to their General that they 
were ringing because of reinforcements, and that the place 
had been relieved in the night by a large portion of the 
Austrian army. The General, believing this, ordered his 
troops to retire at once. 

h Thus, while the bells of Feldkirch rang, the French army 
stole away; and the people again fell upon their knees, and 
gave thanks to God for their deliverance. 

— Anonymous. 

79.— THE BELL OF JUSTICE 

a Many years ago the people of Italy had a tender-hearted 
King, who decreed that in one of the principal cities of his 
realm a great bell should be hung. So, in obedience to his 
command, the people gathered together, and with great 
ceremony and enthusiasm hung the bell in the most public 
place in town — the square where all the inhabitants con- 
gregated. 
b(C) " The bell," said the King, " shall be known as the Bell of 
Justice; and he who can get fair treatment nowhere else 
shall have it when he rings this bell; for the bell will call the 
city's magistrate, who shall listen to the story of the 
wronged one, and give him justice." 

c Years passed, and many times the bell was rung — some- 
times by homeless children, sometimes by those who had 
been sadly beaten in their struggle with the world. And 
the magistrates, one succeeding another, had never failed 
to respond to the summons. 

d At last the end of the bell-rope, pulled so often, became 
worn, and rotted away; and a wild vine was tied to it by 
some careless people, who were too indolent to lengthen it 
properly. And thus it happened that a poor old horse, 



146 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



that had been turned out to starve and die, nibbled at the 
vine for want of food, and so rang the bell. 

When the magistrate answered the summons, he looked 
about, and saw no one whom he could judge to be in dis- 
tress until some children, playing near, told him that the 
horse had rung the Bell of Justice. The kind heart of the 
magistrate was touched, and he swore that the horse, too, 
should have justice. In a short time he found the owner 
of the poor old animal, and ordered him, under heavy 
penalty, to provide for the horse as long as it lived. 

— Anonymous. 

80.— ON THE WAY TO THE FIRE 

They had gotten off in too much of a hurry, and the bit of 
the middle horse had been left unsnapped; and there they 
were, three horses running wild pounding out the confused 
clatter of a stampede over asphalt and paving stones, instead 
of that regular pulse of hoof-beats which times the speed of 
a well-reined gallop. Donnelly, braced and straining, clung 
to the lines; but the pull was all against him, and the great 
animals jerked, and tore at his arms as they rose and fell. 
He was being dragged, not they driven; and they were 
dragging him and the big truck and its crew straight for 
the water-front, down a sloping street so narrow that 
it was impossible, going at such speed, to turn a corner 
from it. 

Donnelly threw all his weight on the brakes; but the 
brakes were useless to stop a ten-thousand-pound truck 
running on ball-bearings behind three deep-chested, mighty- 
flanked fire horses gone mad together. They shot past 
the pillars of an elevated road; and the truck took the car- 
tracks with the bound of a toboggan. Another electric 
light whipped past them; the shadows of another dark 
street leaped to swallow them like the mouth of a tunnel; 



* 

I 

£ 

* 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 147 

and there were only two more streets between them and the 
piers of the water-front. 

Suddenly Brunton, the nimblest man of the ladder com- 
pany, swung lightly to the side of the turn-table, and peered 
out at the horses. The next moment he dropped his head 
into his shoulders like a cat, and went forward around the 
turn-table until he was crouched at Donnelly's knee. 

Then he jumped forward, and disappeared. Captain 
Meaghan turned to catch up a lantern, but a lurch of the 
truck almost threw him from his hold, and he could only 
cling helplessly to the iron upright, and wait for a corner 
light. As one flashed by, it showed Brunt on astride of the 
off horse, working forward to its shoulders. Before the 
darkness closed again he had reached its mane, and stretched 
himself out along its neck to catch the bridle of the middle 
horse. 

Captain Meaghan understood that he was trying to pull 
its head around, and throw it, as a cavalryman throws his 
mount. But he also understood that this was the sixteen- 
hundred-pound filly of a mixed-blood Percheron mare, and 
as strong in the neck as a bull; and Brunton had not even 
the purchase of a bit to aid him. When the feeble lights of 
half the block had flowed past them without any slackening 
of speed, Meaghan gave up hope. 

"He can't do it," he groaned. "Run 'em into some- 
thing, Donnelly." 

Before Donnelly could answer, there was a flash of fire at 
the horses' heads, and a shot rang out above the noises of 
hoof and wheel. A second report cut the echoes of the first. 

The middle horse leaped, and fell kicking. It was 
dragged between the poles, on the asphalt, until it brought 
down the off horse. The truck swept them forward in a 
struggling heap with broken poles, and snapped harness 
until the third horse fell too; and then the front wheels 



148 



TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 



J 



jammed into them with a lurch that shot Meaghan forward 
as he leaped. 

He ran to the pole, calling for a light. He forced down 
the head of the struggling off horse, and cried hoarsely: 

"Brunton? Brunton?" 

He got no answer. Lieutenant Gallegher and the men 
ran up with lanterns. 

" Loose the flank horses," Meaghan cried. "He must 
be'n underneath." 

The men began to unbuckle the tangled straps. 

"Cut them! Cut them!" he ordered. 

He reached down to raise the head of the bleeding animal 
which Brunton had shot. Lieutenant Gallegher touched 
him on the shoulder. 

"Brunton's over there on the curb," he said; and 
Meaghan turned to see the missing fireman sitting uncon- 
cernedly beside the gutter. — It was only a part of the run 
, with him. 

— "In the Nature of a Hero," by Harvey J. O'Higgins. Copy- 
right, 1904, by The Century Co. 



81.— THE HEART OF A GOAT 



The sunset was flooding the Harrigan backyard, when 
across the lawn and towards the goat-paddock came little 
Gwendoline. Gwendoline was the one friend the perse- 
cuted Billy had. She patted him, she called him "good 
boy," and once she had given him to eat a lovely steel 
buckle, which had been her birthday present from her rich 
Aunt Julia. She was some sort of a compensation for her 
older brother Tommy, who was Billy's master and tyrant, 
and whom he hated. For her sake he was docile when the 
hated Tommy hitched him to that unbearable cart, because 
he knew he was to draw her. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 149 

Tommy raised her to the seat. Then he discovered that 
the strap which was necessary to hold such a baby as Gwen- 
doline in place was wanting. He darted off toward the 
house warning her to stay still until he returned. 

Stay still was just what the young lady did not want to 
do. Scarcely was her brother out of sight when she cried: 

"Gidap. Gwenny dwive herself. " 

And she pulled lustily at the reins. 

Billy smartly pulled the cart down the drive and out into 
the street. He would give the baby and himself a happy 
hour, far from Tommy and his whip. Gayly they started 
down Somers Street, and then they heard the voice of 
Tommy in pursuit. Billy flew, the little Gwendoline en- 
couraging him with gurgles of delight. The goat's blood 
was stirred by the excitement of the race; then like a flash 
came a sudden and an ominous lightening of the load. 
Billy stopped, and turned his head. Tommy was still far 
behind, and there in the middle of the street lay the little 
Gwendoline, softly crying, while blood and dust mixed to 
spoil the rose-pink of her cheek. How had it happened, 
asked Billy wildly of himself, that she had fallen? Sud- 
denly he remembered — the strap! — and his conscience 
smote him, for down in the bottom of his heart, he knew 
that he himself had eaten that strap. To satisfy his appe- 
tite he had eaten away the safeguard of the only creature 
who cared for him and for whom he cared! 

Poor Billy! He was inexpressibly sorry. He stood 
stock still, stricken by the thought of what he had done. 
Then ahead of him he heard the clatter of hoofs, and behind 
him the terrified cry of Tommy. Straight down Somers 
Street was galloping a horse, dragging an empty phaeton. 
Crashing along the engine of destruction came, yet Billy 
seemed not to realize what it meant. Then he came to his 
senses. In the brief moment that was left he half turned 



150 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



his head, and saw the flutter of the little Gwendoline's 

gingham frock; then straight at the oncoming horse he 

dashed, and about fifteen feet from the child, the horse, the 

phaeton, the goat and his little cart came down in one 

dreadful heap. 

* * * 

f The next day by the paddock they buried him. The 
little Gwendoline was still in bed. In a week she was well, 
and she asked for Billy. There was a moment when she 
was in danger of crying, but Tommy showed her his new 
puppy just then. That was a year ago. The low green 
mound beside the paddock is now forgotten, yet who shall 
say it is not a hero's grave? 

— Adapted from "Billy's Atonement," by Harrison Rhodes. 
Copyright, 1904, by P. F. Collier & Son. 

82.— JUANITO'S DREAM-GIFT 



There was nothing very pleasant in the sound of the 
Easter bells for Juanito. He had not a cuarto in his pock- 
ets. He had not had any breakfast. What was worse, he 
had not the faintest chance of seeing the bull-baiting which 
was to be more than ordinarily magnificent that Easter 
Day. At dawn he had addressed a prayer to the Virgin de 
la Esperanza, but at noon the Virgin had not answered him. 
He was hungry, he was low-spirited. He sought a shady 
nook under a gateway, where he threw himself down and 
slept. 

While he slept, a couple of tourists passed. 

" What a picture!" said the young man, stopping to con- 
template the sleeper. "A picture of petition! See the 
significance of the open hand, waiting for a windfall!" 

"Put a piece of silver in his hand," said the young lady, 
"and give him a surprise when he awakes." 



g(C) 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 151 

The gentleman took a coin from his pocket, and placed it 
gently in the open hand, which by a mechanical movement 
half closed at the contact with the cool metal. Then the 
couple went away laughing. 

Juanito continued to sleep; and while sleeping, he 
dreamed that the good Virgin de la Esperanza was descend- 
ing to him on a ladder of the color of the rainbow. She had 
a crown of lilies in her hair, and was carrying white roses in 
her hands. And she said to him tenderly: 

" Juanito, thou hast never forgotten to pray to me morn- 
ing and evening. In honor of the Resurrection of my Son, 
.1 wish to recompense thee." 

At the same time, the Virgin shook the petals from her 
white roses into Juanito's hand; and in falling, each rose 
leaf changed into a piece of silver: and Juanito experienced 
such joy that it awoke him. He stretched himself, and 
from one of his hands — oh, miracle! — a white coin slipped, 
and fell with a silvery sound upon the pavement. He could 
not believe either his eyes or his ears. He picked up the 
coin. It was a beautiful white piece of five pesetas. Now 
he could see the bull-fight! With a bound he was on his 
feet, and running towards the Plaza de Toros. 

As he was turning the corner of the Callo San Pablo, he 
almost rushed against a slip of a girl, whom he had known 
since childhood, and who was named Chata. She was very 
pale, and her great black eyes were full of tears. 

"What is the matter, Chata?" he asked her. 

"My mother is sick," she replied, "and I have not been to 
bed for two nights. The doctor came this morning, and 
ordered medicines. I went to the druggist's, but he would 
not give me anything without pay. What shall I do? If 
the bells toll for her, they will toll for me too: I am not 
, strong enough to outlive her." 

Juanito remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on 



152 



TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 



' Chata's tearful black eyes; then suddenly taking the dream- 
gift, he put it in the hand of his little friend. 

"Here, take this money. It came from the Virgin de la 
Esperanza, and our Good Lady will not be vexed if I use it 
.to cure your mother." 

Chata was so excited that she did not take time even to 
thank him, but ran to the druggist's without once looking 
back. 

Juanito could not go to the bull-fight, but somehow 
or other — he could not explain why — he felt very happy 
all that Easter Day. He wondered at his contentment. 
Happy — and without seeing the gala sights of the Plaza de 
Toros! He could not understand it. That evening Chata 
came to him to tell him that her mother was better. He 
was happier still, and he wondered the more, how it could 
all be! —Andre Theuriet, " Stories of Every Day Life." 






83.— THE DWARF'S GIFT 

It was after the war, and times were hard in Pontiac. 
She was starving, and she w T as too proud to beg the outside 
world for help. But, as the winter wore on, and the faces of 
the people began to look pinched and drawn, the Cure told 
his children that they must sink their pride, and ask for 
help from without. He called for a volunteer to go to the 
Bishop of Quebec with their tale of distress, and all ex- 
pected that the messenger would be the Avocat, or the Lit- 
tle Chemist. Great was their surprise then when the Cure 
accepted as messenger Parpon — Parpon, the dwarf, the 

drudge of the village-miller. 

* * # 

Five days later a little, uncouth man took off his hat in 
the chief street of Quebec, and began to sing a song of 
Picardy to an air which no man in French Canada had ever 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 153 

heard. Farmers on their way to the market by the Place 
de Cathedral stopped, listening, though every moment's de- 
lay lessened their chance of getting a stand in the market- 
place. Butchers and milkmen loitered, regardless of wait- 
ing customers; a little company of soldiers caught up the 
chorus, and to avoid involuntary revolt, their sergeant 
halted them, that they might listen. Gentlemen strolling 
by — doctor, lawyer, officer, idler — paused, and forgot the 
raw weather, for this marvelous voice in the unshapely body 
warmed them, and they pushed in among the fast-gathering 
crowd. Ladies, hurrying by in their sleighs, lost their 
hearts to the thrilling notes. 

Presently the wife of the governor stepped from her 
sleigh, and coming over, quickly took Parpon's hat from his 
hand, and went round among the crowd with it, gathering 
money. 

" He is hungry, he is poor," she said with tears in her eyes. 
She had known the song in her childhood, and he who used 
to sing it to her was no longer in her sight. In vain the 
gentlemen strove to take the cap from her; she collected the 
money herself, and Parpon sang on. 

A night later a crowd gathered in the hall of the city to 
hear the dwarf sing. He came on the platform dressed as 
he had entered the city, with heavy, home-made coat and 
trousers, and moccasins, and a red woolen comforter about 
his neck — but this comforter he took off when he began to 
sing. Old France and New France, and the loves and hates 
and joys and sorrows of all lands met that night in the soul 
of this dwarf with the divine voice, who did not give them his 
name, so that they called him, for want of a better title, the 
Provencal. And again two nights later it was the same, 
and yet again a third night, and a fourth, and the simple 
folk, and the wise folk, also, went mad after Parpon, the 
dwarf. 



154 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Then suddenly, he disappeared from Quebec City, and the 
next Sunday, while the Cure was saying the last words of 
the Mass, he entered the church of St. Savior at Pontiac. 
Going up to the chancel steps, he waited. The murmuring 
of the people drew the Cure's attention, and then, seeing 
Parpon, he came forward. 

Parpon drew from his breast a bag, and put it in the 
priest's hands, and as the Cure bent down his head, the 
dwarf whispered in his ear. The Cure turned toward the 
altar, and raised the bag toward it in thanksgiving; then 
he turned to Parpon again, but the dwarf was trotting away 
down the aisle and from the church. 

" Dear children/' said the Cure, " we are saved, and we are 
not shamed by begging." He held up the bag. " Parpon 
has brought us two thousand dollars; we shall have food to 
eat, and there shall be more money against seed-time. The 
giver of this good gift demands that his name be not known. 
Such is all true charity. Let us pray." 

So hard times passed from Pontiac as the months went 
on, but none save the Cure and the Avocat knew who had 
helped her in her hour of need. 

— " The Lane That Had No Turning," by Gilbert Parker. Copy- 
right, 1899, 1900, by Gilbert Parker. Published by Double- 
day, Page & Co. 

84.— THE ORIGIN OF ROAST PIG 

The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods, 
as was his wont, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage 
in the care of his eldest son, Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, 
who being fond of playing with fire, as yonkers of his 
age generally are, let some sparks escape into a bundle 
of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration 
over every part of the house, until it was reduced to ashes. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 155 

Together with the cottage, what was of more importance, a 
fine litter of pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. 

Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, not so much for 
the sake of the tenement, which he and his father could easily 
rebuild in an hour or two, as for the loss of the pigs. While 
he was thinking what he should say to his father, and was 
wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of the 
pigs, an odor assailed his nostrils such as he had never before 
experienced. What could it proceed from? — not from the 
burnt cottage — he had smelt that smell before — indeed, 
this was by no means the first accident of the kind which 
had occurred through the negligence of the young fire- 
brand. Much less did the odor resemble that of any known 
herb, weed, or flower; he knew not what to think. 

He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any 
signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers in so doing, and to 
cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. 
Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come off with 
the fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's 
life, indeed, for before him no man had known it), he tasted 
roast pork. Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did 
not burn him so much now, still he licked his fingers from a 
sort of habit. 

The truth at last broke into his slow understanding, that 
it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so deli- 
cious; and surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, 
he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin 
with the flesh next to it, and was cramming it down his 
throat, when his father entered amid the smoking rafters, 
armed with retributive cudgel, and finding how affairs 
stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's shoulders, 
as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more 
than if they had been flies, for the pig engrossed his entire 
attention. 



156 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

11 You graceless rascal/ J shouted the father, " what are you 
devouring? Is it not enough that you have already burnt 
three of my houses, but you must be eating fire, and I know 
not what else?" 

"Oh, father, the pig! the pig! Taste how nice the burnt 
^pig eats!" 

f The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror at the thought of 
his son eating burnt pig. Bo-bo now raked out another 
pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half into 
the hands of Ho-ti, whose fingers were thereby scorched. 
Ho-ti instantly put the paining fingers into his mouth, and 
perceiving the rich savor that his tongue licked off, without 
farther ado he dispatched the remainder of the pig, and 
would have devoured the rest of the litter, if the fire had 
not by this time completely consumed them. 

g It was soon observed that Ho-ti's cottage was now burnt 
down more frequently than ever before. It was also ob- 
served that this happened regularly shortly after the sow 
farrowed, and that Ho-ti, despite the frequent blazes, in- 
stead of chastising his son, grew more indulgent toward 
him. The wonder at all this grew so great that Ho-ti and 
his son were watched. The terrible secret was discovered. 
There was a movement of indignation, but the movement 
was changed to one of imitation as soon as the indignant 
neighbors had tasted some of the roast pig. Fires became 
so frequent that the insurance companies were compelled 
to retire from business, and this noble guild would, in all 
likelihood, have never been revived, had it not been for the 
invention of ovens and stoves which made it possible to en- 
joy roast pig without burning down one's house. 

— Charles Lamb, " Essays of Elia." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



157 



85.— MR. WINKLE'S RIDE 



The four Pickwickians were off on a little jaunt to Manor 
Farm: Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Tupman 
behind an immense brown horse, in a very small green 
chaise, driven by Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Winkle following in the 
saddle, mounted on another immense horse. 

They had not gone far before Mr. Snodgrass in the bin of 
the chaise asked of Mr. Winkle in the saddle: 

"What makes the horse go sideways?" 

"I can't imagine! " answered Mr. Winkle. His horse was 
drifting up the street in a most mysterious manner — side 
first, with his head towards one side of the way, and his tail 
, towards the other. 

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any 
other particular, the whole of his faculties being concen- 
trated in the management of the animal attached to the 
chaise, which displayed various peculiarities highly inter- 
esting to a spectator, but by no means equally amusing to 
any one seated behind the brute. Besides jerking his head 
up in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, and 
tugging at the reins to an extent that made it a matter of 
great difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a 
singular propensity for darting every now and then to the 
side of the road, then stopping short, and then rushing for- 
ward for a few minutes at a speed which it was wholly im- 
possible to control. 

"Wo — o!" yelled Mr. Pickwick, after the twentieth 
. maneuver of this kind; "I have dropped my whip!" 

"Winkle!" said Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came 
trotting up on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and 
shaking all over, as if he would shake to pieces with the vio- 
lence of the exercise, "pick up the whip. There's a good 
fellow!" 



158 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridle till he was black in the 
face, and having at length succeeded in stopping his 
charger, dismounted, handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, 
and grasping the reins, prepared to remount. 

Now whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of 
his disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent 
recreation with Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him 
that he could perform the journey as much to his own satis- 
faction without a rider as with one, are points upon which, 
of course, we can arrive at no definite and distinct conclu- 
sion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, certain 
it is that Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins, than 
the horse slipped them over his head, and darted backward 
to their full length. 

"Poor fellow! " said Mr. Winkle soothingly, "poor fellow; 
good old fellow! " But the " poor fellow " was proof against 
flattery; the more Mr. Winkle tried to get nearer to him, the 
more he sidled away: and notwithstanding all kinds of 
coaxing and wheedling, there were Mr. Winkle and the 
horse going round and round each other for ten minutes, 
at the end of which time each was at precisely the same dis- 
tance from the other as when they commenced. 

"Mr. Pickwick, do come and hold him!" 

Mr. Pickwick was the very impersonation of kindness 
and humanity; he threw the reins on the horse's back, and 
having descended from his seat, carefully drew the chaise 
into the hedge, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in 
the vehicle. 

The refractory horse of Mr. Winkle just then began to 
kick up the dust, and indulged in so violent a retrograde 
movement, that Mr. Winkle fairly let go his hold, for his 
arms were nearly wrenched out of their sockets. The horse 
paused, stared, shook his head, turned around, and quietly 
trotted home, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. Pickwick gazing 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 159 

at each other in blank dismay. A rattling noise at a little 
distance attracted their attention. They looked up. 
j(C) " Bless my soul!" exclaimed the agonized Mr. Pickwick, 

" there's the other horse running away!" 
k It was but too true. The beast tore off with the four- 
wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snod- 
grass in the said chaise. The heat was a short one. Mr. 
Tupman threw himself into the hedge; Mr. Snodgrass fol- 
lowed his example; the horse dashed the chaise against a 
wooden bridge, separated the wheels from the body, and the 
bin from the perch; and finally stood stock still to gaze upon 
the ruin he had made; then he followed in the footsteps of 
his predecessor, and the four Pickwickians were forced to 
trudge five miles before they reached Manor Farm. 

— Charles Dickens, " Pickwick Papers." 

86.— THE FESTIVAL OF THE GUILLOTINE 

a Suddenly toward the Rue St. Honore there was a tre- 
mendous eddying in the multitude — as a body of mounted 
gendarmes with drawn swords advanced slowly to the 
alarum of a thousand drums. Grim and terror-striking 
was this squadron of the Gendarmes of the Revolution. 

b In its midst was a miserable old carriage, miserably 
horsed, and driven by a postilion wearing a liberty-cap with 
a red cockade. Beside the tight-shut door, sword in hand, 
rode the notorious Santerre, the General of the National 
Guard. 

c The crowd, pressing close upon the gendarmes, caught 
glimpses through the glass door of the carriage of a face — 
the face of the *tyrant Louis Capet. Pale as plaster, he sat 
there, his eyes fixed on his book of hours, muttering to 
himself the prayers for the dead. 

d Through the shrieking crowd, amidst shaking fists, the 
* So considered by the mob. 



160 



TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 



death-carriage moved slowly onward to the foot of the 
scaffold. As they stood on the cart, gazing with a strange 
wonder, the three women plainly could see the tyrant 
alight from his wretched chariot, ascend the steps of the 
scaffold, and there stand upright beside the knife. The 
executioner stepped forward, and laid his hand on the 
shoulder of the tyrant, who retreated a step. It was his 
wish to retain his coat, and that his hands should not be 
tied. 

A priest held up before him a crucifix, and exhorted him 
to submit to the will of God. And then the tyrant gave him- 
self up to the executioner, who took off his brown coat and 
his lace cravat, and fastened his hands behind him with 
a leather strap. The howls and execrations ceased. A 
tnrilling silence rested on the crowd. 

Louis Capet moved forward to the edge of the scaffold all 
fringed with threatening fists. Looking over them as 
though they had no existence, the tyrant spoke: 

"I die an innocent man " 

At this instant, obedient to his master, Santerre's horse 
reared and plunged, and Santerre flourished his sword be- 
fore the tyrant's mouth, as though to close it — and then a 
tremendous rattle of drums burst forth, and drowned his 
thin voice. 

At a sign from the two representatives of the Con- 
vention there present, the executioner seized the prisoner 
by the shoulders, dragged him to the plank, and having 
flung him upon it face downwards, pushed the plank 
between the two arms of the guillotine directly beneath 
the knife. The head of him who was King of France lay 
on the block. 

The loud rattle of the drums stopped short. All eyes 
turned to the victim, where he was held in place by two 
crouching men, There was an instant of breathless silence 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 161 

— and then a flash, as of lightning, as the bright knife, swift 
as a hawk pouncing on its prey, flew down the grooves. A 
dull jar made the upright arms quiver. The head, at 
once pallid and ruddy, toppled over into the basket. 
From the divided neck, that looked like a dark hole, 
gushed forth a stream of blood spouting over the basket, 
over the base of the guillotine, and over the legs and 
naked arms of the executioner. 

The headsman grasped by the hair the head, with its eye- 
lids still a-flutter. He held it up so that it was visible to 
all the dumb and motionless crowd. In succession he 
turned the face to the four corners of the scaffold, and as 
he did so, he gave four resounding slaps to the dead face. 

Then from the whole multitude burst forth an awful cry: 
"Vive la Nation!" The drums broke into a sharp rattle, 
and with a hoarse roar the crowd flung itself on the scaffold. 
Men helped the women up, children climbed the beams and 
posts, the people hurled themselves on the bloody basket, 
on the gory planks — all fiercely eager to dip their hands in 
the tyrant's blood. They smeared their clothes, their hand- 
kerchiefs with blood. Mothers spattered blood on the faces 
of their sons and daughters. . . . The crowd, crazy, 
drunk with passion, burst forth into yelling. . . . And 
roaring out their song, they danced madly around the 
guillotine. 

-Reprinted from Gras's "The Terror." Copyright, 1898, by D. 
Appleton & Co. 

87.— A RIDE WITH A PANTHER 

It was dark night, and I was returning home to my 
brother's through the thick woodland which separated his 
farm from the bottoms and the village whither he had sent 
me that afternoon. I had been riding along, shouting a 



162 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

campaign song which was very popular then, and I had 
only paused a moment to take a new breath, when I heard 
a child crying off in the woods to my right. Suddenly a 
woman screamed wildly; then the child began crying again. 
Evidently a woman with a child was lost in the dense woods. 
I determined to keep the road so as not to lose myself and 
to direct her to me by my calls. So I shouted lustily, and in 
a few seconds she replied; but the sound was so much nearer 
that I was puzzled, wondering how a woman, carrying a 
child, could get through the woods so quickly, especially in 
the dark. 

The crying commenced again, and all at once the truth 
burst on me. It was terrible enough, but I had to grin in 
spite of its terror — I had been calling up a panther to chase 
me! The horse had been pulling at the rein, and as soon 
as I realized the truth, I gave him his head. He bolted the 
instant I eased on him, and the panther seemed to under- 
stand that I had seen through its ruse. I could hear it 
tearing through the brush, snarling savagely. 

It was too dark to see distinctly, but my ears told me that 
the panther had crossed the road, and I began to wonder 
whether he could out-travel us enough to get ahead and 
leap on me from a tree. The thought chilled me, and just 
then an overhanging limb raked off my cap, and I yelled, 
thinking the panther had me. The beast gave an answer- 
ing yell, and I knew that it was still behind. 

We had reached the hill which was not more than half a 
mile from my brother's, and down it the horse seemed to 
fairly fly, and I hoped we would distance our pursuer 
enough to give us time for the steep climb on the other 
side. The timber was more open here, and I could distin- 
guish the panther, a black shadow leaping along, its eyes 
glowing, greenish coals. 

We swept across the hollow, and up the hill; but the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 163 

horse slackened a little on the steep pitch. He tried to 
keep up his speed, but he had been on a dead run for over a 
mile, and his flanks were heaving and the foam flying. 

The panther caught up with us, and circled clear around 
us, snarling hideously all the time. As he circled, he lunged 
at me. His claws cut open my boot leg, and he hung to my 
foot a second, then dropped off with a yell of disappoint- 
ment. He seemed beside himself with rage. He leaped 
along in immense bounds, and at last, all in an instant, he 
was behind me hanging to the haunches of the poor horse, 
which screamed shrilly. I wonder I did not drop off, I 
was so paralyzed with terror. I was deadly cold, my teeth 
chattered, and if I had not lost my cap long before, I know 
my hair would have pushed it off then, for every hair stood 
up straight. I could not keep from looking at the fearful 
thing, clinging there so close to me, with eager jaws and 
blazing eyes. 

I had not a weapon of any kind, and could not have used 
one, if I had. I could do nothing but hang on desperately, 
my ears deafened by the shrill cries of the horse and the en- 
raged shrieks of the panther. I suppose it did not last long: 
but to me it was an endless eternity. Then the horse began 
to kick out both hind legs at once, and slowly, but surely, 
my horrible companion slipped off tearing great gashes on 
the haunches of the horse as he went down. 

As he fell, the horse gave him one last terrible kick that 
ended the battle; for the panther did not leap up, but fol- 
lowed, grumbling sulkily, till we were out of the clearing. 

For myself, I was so unstrung that, when I rode up to my 

brother's door, I simply hung limp and helpless on the horse, 

till he lifted me down and in. 

— Anonymous. 



164 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 



88.— AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



a(C) "Yes," said Old Liberty, from his tower in old St. Mary's 
Cathedral to Little Sweet Voice in the belfry of Holy 
Angels, "I am so old that my earliest recollections are rather 
indistinct. About the first thing I remember in life is a 
rather unpleasant awakening. I must somehow or other 
have strayed away from my parents, and fallen asleep away 
down in the depths of a dark, wet mine. A disagreeable 
place to dream in! But the cold or damp did not awaken 
me. No, it was the pick of a miner. When I opened my 
eyes, I could hardly see in the half-light down there, but 
began, gradually, to make out with the help of the miner's 
little lamp, the hanging ceilings, and the supporting tim- 
bers, and the narrow galleries, and the deep, black, shadowy 
niches and hollows and caves, which the faint Bickerings 
from the miner's cap filled with goblins. I did not have 
long to examine my surroundings. How quickly that miner 
pulled me out of my bed, and how carelessly he bumped me 
into his car! Up, up, up, I was pushed and pulled into the 
broad daylight. 

b(C) "I do not know much about what was to be seen at this 
stage of my travels. After being in the mine so long, the 
sunshine above ground completely blinded me. I know 
that I was bumped along many a mile of rocky road, only 
to be heaved off at the end of my journey into a pile of most 
unpleasant and uncompanionable rocks. They seemed to 
delight in giving a newcomer like myself a cold shoulder, 
and in showing their rough edges. And you did not have 
to be among them long to feel the sharpness of their dispo- 
sitions. But I did not stay a great while on that pile of 
ore-rock. 

c(C) "I was carted off to new scenes, and at my next stopping 
place I certainly got a warm reception. I was cast into a 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 165 

furnace. Oh! what torments I did endure! The fire eat 
right into my bones. In my agony I lost all control of my- 
self. Every muscle in me relaxed. My flesh shriveled up 
into scales, and fell off. Oh! if I could only have died! I 
was white and livid with the pain. Suddenly something 
gave way beneath me. I slid into a great dipper, and the 
next moment was poured out gently and carefully into a 
bed of cool sand. 

d(C) "Oh! how delicious that sand was after all that torment! 
Bliss, delight, paradise! If you had the choosing of it, you 
would not have called it a comfortable bed, but after all 
that fire, it was so cool that I forgave it all the cramping 
and twisting I had to suffer in it. I only wish they had not 
let me lie there so long. The change from hot to cold was 
so sudden that I stiffened into the shape of that bed, and 
have never been able to straighten myself out since then. 
When the rheumatism gets into your joints, it does not come 
out in a hurry. 

e(C) "But I am wandering. I was lifted out of the sand and 
dropped on a broad-wheeled wagon, and heigho! and away 
I went a hundred and fifty miles — I heard them say — not 
behind a puffing locomotive, but behind four stumbling 
oxen over rough, rutty roads that made my tongue rattle. 

f (C) " At the end of that journey there was a block and tackle, 
and a heave and pull, and a jerk and a bump, and a lift, and 
a slip, and a fall, till I thought what little life was left in me 
would be shaken out before I was finally settled in this 
tower. That was before the days of lifting engines and 
wire-cables. It was horse and man, and man and horse, 
and it was hard to tell which was the rougher. But they 
settled me in position at last. 

g(C) " And here I have been ever since. Why, there is hardly 
a man alive to-day that I called out to the war of eigh- 
teen twelve. My! what a thrill ran through me when I 



166 



TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 



announced the tidings of war. I tell you it was not the same 
feeling that passed through me in eighteen-sixty-one — I had 
seen the Mexican War, too — I know my tones were sad. 
You might not believe it, but during the four years of the 
Civil War, I was tolling out sad news of death so frequently 
that I almost forgot my cheerful tones. 
h(C) " But, after the war, I soon relearnt the old gay tones, the 
merry wedding peals, and Easter hallelujahs, and all my 
festive melodies. For one so old, I am quite good at a 
carol, too. The rains and the snows and the cold and the 
heat — they have all had their pelt at me, they have cracked 
a good many of my friends, but they have not spoilt .my 
voice. " 

Just then the old bell tried a slow measure merely to show 
little Sweet Voice how rich and round and full his old brass 
note was. 

" There — little Sweet Voice, isn't that fairly good for a 
. throat a hundred and ten years old?" 

No answer from Sweet Voice! 

"Huh!" said the garrulous old bell, "there's the polite- 
ness of the younger generation. That youngster has fallen 
asleep listening to me." And he shut his mouth tight 
l with a clang. Anonymous. 



3 






89.— HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED 

Not until James II. became king of England was a de- 
termined effort made to take away the liberties of the 
American Colonies, which claimed charter rights, and dis- 
dained royal governors. Sir Edmund Andros was chosen 
the first governor-general of the Colonies, and for nearly a 
year after his arrival in Boston, in 1686, he offensively ex- 
erted his authority to make the colonists yield their patents 
and privileges, and submit to his rule, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 167 

Connecticut made the most determined stand against 
his authority, and while the Assembly was in session, Sir 
Edmund Andros, attended by a bodyguard of some sixty' 
soldiers and officers, marched impudently into the cham- 
ber, and peremptorily demanded that the charter should 
be immediately placed in his hands. Governor Treat, the 
presiding officer of the Assembly, and the governor-general 
wasted the hours in what the Britisher looked upon as use- 
less argument. Darkness settled upon the Assembly while 
the debate went on. Lights were brought in — the tallow 
candles of our colonial forefathers — and placed on the table 
around which sat the members of the Assembly. At length 
Sir Edmund had deepened into rage, and demanded the 
charter in so decided tones that the reluctant Governor 
Treat ordered it to be produced. The box containing the 
charter was laid upon the table, the cover removed, and 
there before their eyes lay the precious parchment, the 
charter of colonial liberty. Andros rose and stepped 
toward the table to seize the object in dispute. 

At that critical moment there came an unexpected diver- 
sion. During the discussion, a number of the more im- 
portant citizens had entered the room, and stood near the 
table. Suddenly from the midst of those people, a long 
cloak was deftly flung upon the circle of blazing candles, 
extinguishing them all, and throwing the room into total 
darkness. 

Confusion ensued. There were quick and excited move- 
ments within the room. Outside, the crowd which had as- 
sembled set up a lusty cheer, and a number of them pushed 
their way into the chamber. Sir Edmund Andros ex- 
claimed angrily: "What means this, gentlemen? Is some 
treachery at work? Guard the charter! Light those can- 
dles instantly !" 

Several minutes elapsed before the candles again shed 



168 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

their feeble light through the room. With the first glow 
every eye was fixed upon the box. It was empty! The 
charter was gone! The members gazed at one another in 
blank astonishment. 

In the darkness a quick-moving person had made a lane 
through the crowd to a neighboring window whose sash 
was thrown up. Out of this he leaped to the ground below, 
where the people were thickly gathered. "Make way," 
he cried, "for Connecticut and liberty. I have the Char- 
ter!" 

The cheers redoubled. The throng separated, and let 
him pass through. Inside, Sir Edmund Andros fumed 
and raged. Outside, the bold fugitive sped swiftly along 
the dark and quiet streets, ending his course in front of a 
noble and imposing oak-tree. It was hollow; the opening 
slender without, large within. Into this cavity the fugitive 
thrust his arm, pushing the packet as far as it would go, and 
covering it thickly with fine debris at the bottom of the 
trunk. 

Tradition tells us that this daring patriot was Captain 
Joseph Wadsworth, a bold and energetic militia-leader, 
who played a prominent part in the drama of colonial life. 

As for the Charter Oak, it long remained in Hartford as a 
venerated historical monument, and survived until 1856, 
when tempest in its boughs and decay in its trunk brought 
it in ruin to the earth. 

— Adapted from " American Historical Tales," by Charles Morris. 
Copyright, 1904, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 

90.— THE PICKWICKIANS ON THE ICE 

Mr. Pickwick and his friends betook themselves to a 
large pond for an hour's sport on the ice. Mr. Bob Sawyer 
was the first to display his dexterity, and during all the time 
that he was performing mystic evolutions, Mr. Winkle, with 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 169 

his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a 
gimlet into the soles of his shoes, and putting his skates on, 
with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very 
complicated and entangled state. 

Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet by Sam Weller, and 
trembling violently, clutched Sam's arm with the grasp of a 
drowning man. 

" How slippery it is, Sam! " was Mr. Winkle's first remark. 

"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir," replied Mr. 
Weller. 

"Hold up, sir!" 

This last observation of Sam's bore reference to a demon- 
stration, Mr. Winkle made at that instant, of a frantic 
desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash back on his head 
. on the ice. 

"These — these — are very awkward skates; aren't they, 
Sam?" inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering. 

"I'm afeard there's an orkard gen'l'man in 'em, sir!" re- 
plied Sam. 

"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick. "Come, the ladies 
are all anxiety." 

"Yes, yes," answered Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. 
"I'm coming!" 

"Now, sir, start off!" said Sam. 

"Just hold me at first, Sam, will you? Not too fast, 
. Sam; not too fast!" 

Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled 
up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller in a very 
singular and un-swanlike manner, when Mr. Pickwick most 
innocently shouted from the opposite bank, "Sam!" 

"Sir?" said Mr. Weller. 

"Here, I want you!" 

" Let go, sir! " cried Sam. " Don't you hear the governor 
La-callin'?" 



170 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from 
the grasp of the agonized Winkle; and, in so doing, admin- 
istered a considerable impetus to that unhappy mortal. 
With an accuracy that no degree of skill or practice could 
have insured, the unfortunate skater bore swiftly down 
into the center of the pound, where just at that moment Mr. 
Bob Sawyer was executing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. 
Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud 
crash they both fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to 
the spot. Mr. Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle 
was far too wise to do anything of the kind on skates. He 
was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile, 
but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his counte- 
nance. 

His skates were taken off, and finding that his fall did not 
harm him seriously, the party turned their attention to 
sliding across the pond, a pastime which Mr. Pickwick de- 
lighted in. 

The sport was at its height, the sliding was at its quick- 
est, the laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart 
crack was heard. A large mass of ice disappeared, the 
water bubbled up over it, and Mr. Pickwick's hat, gloves, 
and handkerchief were floating on the surface; and this was 
all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see. The men 
turned pale, and the women fainted, while Mr. Tupman, 
by way of rendering the promptest assistance, and at the 
same time conveying to any persons, who might be within 
hearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe, ran 
off across the country at his utmost speed, screaming, 
"Fire!" with all his might and main. 

It was at this very moment, when Mr. Winkle arid Sam 
Weller were approaching the hole with cautious steps, that 
a face, head, and shoulders emerged from beneath the water, 
. and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr, Pickwick. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 171 

" Keep yourself up for an instant, do — do — for my sake! " 
roared Mr. Winkle, deeply affected. 

This adjuration — "do — do — for my sake!" was rather 

unnecessary; the probability being, that, if Mr. Pickwick 

had declined to keep himself up for anybody else's sake, it 

would have occurred to him that he might as well do so for 

.his own. 

Prodigies of valor were performed to get him out, and 
after wrapping himself up in four heavy shawls, he was 
rapidly escorted home by his friends. 

— Adapted from Charles Dickens, " Pickwick Papers." 

91.— AN AUTUMN SUNSET 

It was pretty late in the autumn of the year, when the 
declining sun, struggling through the mist which had ob- 
scured it all day, looked brightly down upon a little 
village. 

Like a sudden flash of memory or spirit kindling up- the 
mind of an old man, it shed a glory upon the scene, in which 
its departed youth and freshness seemed to live again. The 
wet grass sparkled in the light; the scanty patches of ver- 
dure in the hedges, where the few green twigs yet stood to- 
gether bravely, resisting to the last the tyranny of nipping 
winds and early frost, took heart and brightened up; the 
stream which had been dull and sullen all day long broke 
out into a cheerful smile; the birds began to chirp and twit- 
ter on the naked boughs, as though the hopeful creatures 
half believed that winter had gone by, and spring had come 
already. The vane upon the tapering spire of the old 
church glistened from its lofty station in sympathy with 
the general gladness; and from the ivy-shaded windows 
such gleams of light shone back upon the glowing sky, that 
it seemed as if the quiet buildings were the hoarding-place 



172 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

of twenty summers, and all their ruddiness and warmth 
were stored within. 

Even those tokens of the season, which emphatically 
whispered of the coming winter, graced the landscape, and 
for the moment tinged its livelier features with no oppres- 
sive air of sadness. The fallen leaves, with which the 
ground was strewn, gave forth a pleasant fragrance, and 
subduing all harsh sounds of distant feet and wheels, 
created a repose in gentle unison with the light scattering 
of seed hither and thither by the distant husbandman, and 
with the noiseless passage of the plow as it turned up the 
rich brown earth, and wrought a graceful pattern in the 
stubbled fields. On the motionless branches of some trees, 
autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those 
fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels; others, 
stripped of all their garniture, stood each the center of its 
little heap of bright red leaves, watching their slow decay; 
others again, still wearing theirs, had them all crunched and 
crackled up, as though they had been burned; about the 
stems of some were piled, in ruddy mounds, the apples they 
had borne that year; while others (hardy evergreens this 
class) showed somewhat stern and gloomy in their vigor, 
as charged by nature with the admonition that it is not to 
her more sensitive and joyous favorites she grants the 
longest term of life. Still athwart their darker boughs, the 
sunbeams struck out paths of deeper gold; and the red light 
mantling in among their swarthy branches, used them as 
foils to set its brightness off, and aid the luster of the dying 
day. 

A moment, and its glory was no more; the sun went down 
beneath the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up 
in the west, an airy city, wall heaped on wall, and battle- 
ment on battlement; the light was all withdrawn; the shin- 
ing church turned cold and dark; the streams forgot to 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 173 

smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt 
on everything. 

An evening wind uprose too, and the slighter branches 
cracked and rattled as they moved, in skeleton dances, to 
its moaning music. The withering leaves no longer quiet, 
hurried to and fro in search of shelter from its chill pursuit; 
the laborer unyoked horses, and with his head bent down, 
trudged briskly home beside them; and from the cottage 
windows lights began to glance and wink upon the darken- 
ing fields. 

Then the village forge came out in all its bright import- 
ance. The lusty bellows roared ha! ha! to the clear fire, 
which roared in turn, and bade the shining sparks dance 
gayly to the merry clinking of the hammers on the anvil. 
The gleaming iron, in its emulation, sparkled too, and shed 
its red hot gems around profusely. The strong smith and 
his men dealt such strokes upon their work, as made even 
the melancholy night rejoice, and brought a glow into its 
dark face as it hovered about the door and windows, peep- 
ing curiously in above the shoulders of the dozen loungers. 
As to this idle company, there they stood, spell-bound by 
the place, and casting now and then a glance upon the dark- 
ness in their rear, settled their lazy elbows more at ease 
upon the sill, and leaned a little further in, no more disposed 
to tear themselves away than if they had been born to clus- 
ter round the blazing hearths like so many crickets. 

— From Charles Dickens, " Martin Chuzzlewit." 

92.— THE TWO COWARDS 

Our army was camped on the stony hill that we crossed 
less than half a league back, and we were waiting to be 
ordered to the assault; and we were to make the assault on 
this very gate that we have just come through. But Gen- 



174 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

eral Jourdan didn't want to make it until he knew a little 
more; and so he called for a volunteer who would take his 
life in his hands as a spy and find out if the enemy had 
cannon posted at that gate, and also if they had made any 
extra preparations against an attack on that side. Well, 
he hadn't one volunteer, but a hundred; and among them 
all he chose a little silk-weaver named Agricola, who went 
by the nickname of "Shuttle-Griccy" — a little chap from 
the Rue du Crucifix who could outtalk and outbrag any six 
men in our whole army. He set up to be a great wrestler, 
among other things, and according to his own account he'd 
had bouts with all the stevedores on the Avignon quays 
and had thrown every one of them! What Shuttle-Griccy 
had to say about himself never was small! 

Well, early in the morning this little chap — he wasn't 
much taller than a well-grown cabbage — buckled on his 
sword, and loaded himself with his gun and two braces of 
pistols, and with his red sash dangling away he went; and 
all of us who could find room in them climbed up into trees 
to watch him and see how he got along. He started out all 
right — getting down into a deep ditch that ran in a straight 
line from the Monteux gate right down through our camp, 
and away he went along the bottom of it with his gun and 
his pistols and his sword. The ditch was dry-dug to mark 
the line between two estates — and about halfway between 
us and the town there was a break in it, left to make a 
crossing-place for carts. Shuttle-Griccy would have to 
mount this break, and then go down into the ditch again; 
and, of course, until he was over it he couldn't see anything 
on the other side. 

Now as luck would have it — and luck does some queer 
things now and then! — the Carpentras folks had the same 
notion that we had; and, at the very moment that we 
started our man to spy on them, they started one of their 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 175 

men to spy on us. And he took to the ditch too! So there 
the two of them were — each of them creeping toward the 
other, and neither of them having the least notion in the 
world that the other fellow was anywhere around! 

From where we were, up in the trees, we could see the 
whole thing. Lord, but it was funny to watch them getting 
nearer and nearer that way — with the certainty that when 
they did meet they were bound to go off with a bang! 

"Well, it won't be our Avignon Shuttle-Griccy who'll 
turn tail!" our men kept saying; but as for me I kept my 
mouth shut — for I couldn't help thinking to myself that 
our silk-weaver would be more likely to have real grit if he 
had a shorter tongue. And yet, while we could not help 
laughing, we were worried about our man too — for he was 
too far away for us to warn him or help him, and when the 
shooting time came there was a big chance that he might 
get killed. But we just had to let him take care of himself 
— while we sat there watching with all our eyes. 

At last, just as if they'd settled it all beforehand, the two 
men got to the opposite sides of the break in the ditch at the 
same moment. We lost sight of the other man then; but 
we knew he was crawling up his side of the bank just as our 
man was crawling our side, and we knew that in another 
minute they'd have their noses pointing straight at each 
other across the cart track — not six feet apart! Our hearts 
got right up into our mouths, I can tell you! There would 
be shooting, that was dead sure; and even if our man killed 
the other man the chances were that our man would be 
killed too — and Shuttle-Griccy, for all his big talking, was 
too good a little fellow to be done to death like that. 

And then the meeting came! At the very instant 
Shuttle-Griccy got his head above the top of the bank we 
saw the other man's head come up — and the next instant 
Shuttle-Griccy rolled over backward and came tumbling 



176 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

down into the ditch again, and the head of the other fellow 
went out of sight on his side! 

We all gave a yell together at that, being clear taken 
aback and lost in surprise! Could they have killed each 
other? we wondered. If they had, how had they done it? 
— for neither of them had fired, and we had seen no flash of 
a sword. For about ten seconds we were the most puzzled 
lot of men you ever saw! Well, it wasn't long before we 
found that our man wasn't dead, anyway. Shuttle-Griccy 
hadn't much more than got to the bottom of the ditch, all in 
a bundle, than he had his legs untangled and was up on 
them, and was coming back toward our camp on a dead run 
— and then we saw the other fellow going it for all he was 
worth the other way, along the ditch back to the town! 

But the best of the whole joke was that while they were 
running away from each other that way, with a solid wall of 
earth between them, they took to banging off their guns and 
pistols backwards — the ditch was full of smoke where they 
ran, and we could see the dust flying from the bank between 
them where it was struck by the balls! -In all the days of 
my life I never shall laugh as I laughed then! 

They never stopped running, those two, until they were 
safe home. We saw the other fellow rush in through the 
city gate, and a moment later Shuttle-Griccy came bolting 
into our camp and yelled out, as well as he could yell any- 
thing with his wind all gone: "To arms! To arms! The 
enemy is on us! There are ten thousand of them running 
down that ditch to attack our camp!" 

And then, all of a sudden, as he found everybody roar- 
ing out laughing, he caught on to the fact that he had 
made an ass of himself, and before the whole army had 
proved himself to be a coward! 

—Reprinted from Gras's " The White Terror," Copyright, 1899, 
by D. Appleton & Company. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 177 

93.— ROBIN HOOD AND THE CORN-ENGROSSER 

Robin Hood disguised as a beggar was seated upon a 
grassy bank near a wayside cross. 

"It groweth nigh time/' quoth he to himself, "that I 
were getting back to Sherwood Forest; yet it would please 
me well to have one more merry adventure ere I return to 
my jolly band." 

So he looked up the road and down the road, until at last 
he spied some one drawing near, riding on a horse. When 
the traveler came nigh, Robin laughed heartily, for a strange 
enough figure the man cut. He was a thin, w r eazened fel- 
low, and, to look upon him, you could not tell whether he 
was thirty years old, or sixty, so dried up was he even to 
skin and bone. As for the nag, it was as thin as its rider. 
The poor thing's neck bent down instead of up, and his 
mane was as ragged as if the mice had made their nests in 
it; his backbone stood up sharp and jagged, and his ribs 
showed beneath his skin like the hoops of a barrel. The 
rider wore great clogs upon his feet instead of shoes, the 
soles whereof were made of wood half a palm's breadth in 
thickness, and studded all over w^ith great nails. 

Robin knew the wayfarer to be a certain rich corn-en- 
grosser of Lincoln, who was hated far and near for his 
exorbitant prices, and Robin was only too anxious to cause 
the miserly rogue discomfiture. So he went up, and laid 
his hand on the bridle-rein. 

"Who art thou, fellow, that doth dare to stop me thus 
upon the king's highway?" said the lean man, in a dry, 
sour voice. 

"Pity a poor beggar," quoth Robin. "Give me but a 
farthing to buy me a piece of bread." 

"Now out upon thee!" snarled the other. "Such sturdy 
. rogues as thou art are safer in the prisons or dancing upon 



178 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



" nothing with a hempen collar about the neck, than strolling 
the highways so freely." 

"Tut, tut!" quoth Robin, "how thou talkest! Thou 
and I are brothers, man! Do we not take from the poor 
that which they can ill spare? Give me a penny, I prithee! " 

"I swear to thee," cried the corn-engrosser in a rage, 
"that I have not as much as a single groat in my purse. I 
trust I am too sly to travel so near Robin Hood's haunts 
- with money in my pouch!" 

Then merry Robin looked up and down the road to see 
that there was no one nigh, and then, coming close to the 
corn-engrosser, he stood on tip-toe, and spoke in his ear: 

"Thinkest thou that I am a beggar, as I seem to be? 
Look upon me! There is not a grain of dirt upon my face 
or body; didst thou ever see a beggar so? Look, friend!" 

Here Robin took a purse of money from his breast. 

"Friend, these rags serve but to hide an honest rich man 
.from the eyes of Robin Hood." 

"And I tell thee, friend," answered the corn-engrosser, 
"that I have nigh as much by me as thou hast. Seest thou 
these clogs? The soles are not what they seem to be, for 
each one is a sweet little box; and by twisting the second 
nail from the toe, the upper of the shoe and part of the sole 
lift up like a lid, and in the spaces within are four-score and 
ten bright golden pounds in each shoe, all wrapped in hair, 
to keep them from clinking, and so telling tales of them- 
selves." 

Robin broke into a roar of laughter. 

"Friend!" said he, "thou art the slyest old fox I e'er 
saw in all my life!" 

He laughed again till he shook in his shoes with mirth. 

"Art thou mad," quoth the rider, "to talk so loud in such 
a place? Let us forward, and save thy mirth till we are 
.safe and sound beyond Sherwood." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 179 

"Nay," quoth Robin, "on second thoughts I go no far- 
ther than here, for I have good friends hereabouts. Thou 
mayst go forward, if thou likest, thou sweet, pretty fellow, 
but thou must go forward barefoot, for I am afraid that thy 
shoes must be left behind. Off with them, friend, for I 
have taken a great fancy to them." 

"Who art thou that talkest so?" 

"Men hereabouts call me Robin Hood!" 

At the sound of that name the wayfarer quaked with ter- 
ror, and stripped off his clogs. Robin then said: "Sweet 
friend, I am used to ask those that I have dealings with to 
come and feast at Sherwood with me. But thy name leaves 
a nasty taste upon the tongues of all honest men, and I tell 
thee there are those in Sherwood that would not be so gentle 
with thee as I have been." 

Thereupon he clapped his hand on the horse's flank, and 
L off went nag and rider. 

— "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood." Copyright, 1883, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

94.— THE BLACKSMITH AT BRANDYWINE 

Terrible in the field at Brandywine was the figure of a 
man armed only with a hammer. It plunged into the ranks 
of the enemy, heedless of life, yet seeming to escape shot 
and saber-stroke by magic, and with Thor-thrusts beat the 
foe to the earth. But yesterday war had been to this 
death-dealer a distant rumor, a thing as far from his cottage 
at Dilworth as if it had been waging in Europe, but he had 
revolted at a plot that he had overheard to capture Wash- 
ington, and had warned the general. In revenge the Tories 
had burned down his cottage, and his wife and baby had 
perished in the flames. All day he sat beside the smoking 
ruins, unable to weep, unable to think, almost unable to 



180 



TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 



suffer, except dumbly, for as yet he did not understand 
what had befallen him. But when the drums tattooed, 
the tiger in him was roused, and gaunt with sleeplessness 
and hunger he joined his countrymen, and ranged like Ajax 
on the battlefield. Every cry for quarter was in vain; to 
every such appeal he had but one reply — his wife's name — 
Mary. 

Near the end of the fight, he lay beside the road, his leg 
broken, his flesh torn, his life ebbing from a dozen wounds. 
A wagoner, hastening to join the American retreat, paused 
to give him drink. "I have not more than five minutes of 
life in me/ 7 exclaimed the smith. "Can you lift me into 
that tree, and put a rifle in my hands? " The powerful 
teamster raised him to the crotch of an oak, and gave him 
the rifle and ammunition which a dying soldier had dropped 
near by. Shortly after a band of redcoats came running 
down the road in pursuit of some farmers. The black- 
smith took careful aim; there was a loud report, and the 
leader of the band fell dead. A pause; again a report rang 
out, and a trooper sprawled upon the ground. The marks- 
man had been spied out, and a lieutenant was urging his 
men to hurry on and cut him down. There was a third 
report, and the lieutenant reeled forward into the road. 
"That's for Mary/' gasped the blacksmith. The rifle 
dropped from his hands, and he, too, sank lifeless against 
the boughs. 

— "Myths and Legends of Our Own Land," by Charles M. 
Skinner. Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 

95.— THE PHANTOM DRAGOON 



The height that rises a mile or so to the south of Newark, 
Delaware, is called Iron Hill, because it is rich in hematite 
ore, but about the time of General Howe's advance to the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 181 

Brandywine, it might well have won its name because of 
the panoply of war — the sullen guns, the flashing swords, 
and glistening bayonets — that appeared among the British 
tents pitched on it. 

After the redcoats had established camp here, the Ameri- 
can outposts were advanced, and one of the pickets were 
stationed at Welsh Tract Church. On his first tour of 
duty the sentry was thrown into great alarm by the appear- 
ance of a figure, robed from head to foot in white, that rode 
a horse at a charging gait within ten feet of his face. When 
guard was relieved, the soldier begged that he might be 
never again assigned to that post. His nerves were strong 
in the presence of the enemy in the flesh — but an enemy out 
of the grave ! Ugh ! He would desert rather than encoun- 
ter that shape again. His request was granted. The 
sentry who succeeded him was startled in the small hours 
by a rush of hoofs and the flash of a pallid form. He fired 
at it, and thought that he heard the sounds of a mocking 
laugh come back. 

Every night the phantom horseman made his rounds, 
and several times the sentinels shot at him without effect, 
the white horse and the white rider showing no annoyance 
at these assaults. 

At length a skeptical and unimaginative old corporal was 
assigned to the post of sentry near the spot haunted by the 
phantom dragoon. He looked well to the priming of his 
musket, and at midnight withdrew out of the moonlight, 
and waited, with his gun resting on a fence. It was not 
long before the beat of hoofs was heard approaching, and 
in spite of himself the corporal felt a thrill along his spine 
as a mounted figure on a pale horse dashed into view; but 
the sentry jammed his hat down, set his teeth, and sighted his 
flintlock with deliberation. There was a loud report; a white 
form fell to the ground; a horse galloped into the distance. 



182 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Scrambling over the fence, the corporal ran up to the 
prostrate form, and turned it over: — a British scout, mo- 
tionless, lifeless. The daring fellow, relying on the super- 
stitious fears of the rustics in his front, had made a nightly 
ride as a ghost, in order to keep the American outposts 
from advancing, and also to ascertain from elevated points 
the strength and disposition of their troops. He wore a 
cuirass of steel, but that did not protect his brain from the 
corporal's bullet. 

— ■" Myths and Legends of Our Own Land," by Charles M. 
Skinner. Copyright, 1896, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 

96.— THE SUNKEN CITY 

Where the waves of the Zuyder Zee now roll, there was 
once a prosperous city. The richer inhabitants were so 
wealthy that they paved their banquet-halls with shining 
ducats, but they were at the same time very selfish and 
hard-hearted and totally unmindful of the needs and peti- 
tions of the poor. 

The richest inhabitant was a maiden lady, who owned 
counting-houses, farms, palaces, and fleets, but whose only 
thought, night and day, was how she might increase her 
possessions. Accordingly she one day summoned the cap- 
tain of her largest vessel, bade him to sail away, and return 
in a year's time with a cargo of the most precious and the 
best of all earthly substances. In vain the captain ques- 
tioned her to know exactly what she wished him to get; for 
she merely repeated her order, and haughtily dismissed him. 

After consulting his officers and crew, the Dutch captain 
concluded that nothing could be more precious than wheat, 
the staff of life. He accordingly purchased a cargo of the 
finest wheat, in a distant city, and returned joyfully. The 
lady, in the meantime, had duly informed all her friends 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 183 

that her vessel had gone in search of a cargo of the best and 
most precious of all earthly objects, and as she did not tell 
what it would be, public curiosity was fully aroused. 

But when the captain suddenly appeared before her, and 
told her what he had purchased, she flew into a terrible rage, 
and ordered that the entire cargo of wheat — every kernel of 
it — should be instantly cast into the sea. The captain en- 
treated that the wheat be given to the poor, but the furious 
woman simply repeated her command, and declared that 
she would go down to the port in person to make sure that 
her bidding was executed. 

Sadly retracing his steps to the boat, the captain met 
several beggars, told them that a cargo of wheat was about 
to be thrown away, and, by the time the lady reached the 
dock, the poor had assembled there from all parts of the 
city, in hopes of securing the grain. 

In spite of their imploring cries, however, the haughty 
woman made the sailors cast all the wheat into the sea, 
while the captain stood by, speechless with anger. At last 
he said to his mistress: "As surely as there is a God in 
heaven, you shall be punished for this act, and the time 
may come when you will long for a handful of this squan- 
dered wheat !" 

The lady scarcely listened; she slowly drew a costly ring 
from her finger, cast it into the sea, and coolly declared that, 
when she saw it again, she might perchance credit his words, 
and believe it possible that she should come to want. 

That self-same evening, while preparing a fish for dinner, 
the cook discovered the ring which he immediately sent to 
his mistress. She turned deathly pale when she recognized 
it as her own. A few minutes later, bearers of ill-tidings 
came rushing in to report in quick succession the ruin of her 
counting-houses, the destruction of her fleet, the burning 
of her palaces, and the devastation of her farms. In the 



184 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

course of a few hours she found herself shorn of all her 
riches, for her own dwelling burned to the ground that very 
night, and she barely escaped with her life. 

Now that her money was gone, her friends refused to 
recognize her, and the poor, who had met with nothing but 
scorn and ill-treatment at her hands, allowed her to die of 
hunger and cold in a miserable shed. 

This sudden and terrible fate did not produce any effect 
in the other wealthy citizens, who continued to enjoy life 
and to neglect their fellow-creatures. But their punish- 
ment was not far distant. A little leak in the dike grew 
larger and larger, and one night, when the rich revelers had 
gone to sleep after a splendid banquet, the sea broke down 
the dike, and submerged the entire city. 

Over the spot where Stavoren once stood, the waves now 
ripple in the moonlight, or are thrashed into foam by the 
cold blasts sweeping down from the North. Boatmen 
sometimes rest upon their oars, when the waters are smooth 
and clear, to point out far beneath them the palaces, tur- 
rets and ramparts of Stavoren. The streets, once so popu- 
lous, are deserted, and the market-place empty. No sound 
is heard, save when an inquisitive pike or herring, swim- 
ming through the tall belfries, accidentally strikes one of the 
bells with its flapping tail, and sets it slowly vibrating in 
the depths of the sea, where it seems to be mournfully toll- 
ing the knell of the sunken city. 

— " Legends of the Rhine," by H. A. Guerber. Copyright, 1895, 
by A. S. Barnes & Company. 

97.— INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH 

There is a narrow pass between the mountains in the 
neighborhood of Bendearg, in the Highlands of Scotland, 
which, at a little distance, has the appearance of an immense 
artificial bridge, thrown over a tremendous chasm; but, on 









FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 185 

nearer approach, is seen to be a wall of nature's own ma- 
sonry, formed of vast and rugged bodies of solid rock, piled 
on each other, as if in the giant sport of the architect. Its 
sides are in some places covered with trees of considerable 
size, and the passenger who has a head steady enough to 
look down the precipice may see the eyrie of birds of prey 
beneath his feet. The path across is so narrow that it can- 
not admit of two persons passing abreast; and indeed none 
but the natives would attempt the dangerous route, though 
it saves a circuit of three miles; yet it sometimes happens 
that two travelers meet, owing to the curve formed by the 
pass preventing a view across from either side; and when 
this is the case, one lies down while the other crawls over his 
body. 

One day a Highlander, walking along the pass, on gaining 
the highest part of the arch, observed another wayfarer 
coming leisurely up, and being himself one of the patrician 
order, called to him to lie down. The person addressed dis- 
regarded the command, and the Highlanders met on the 
summit. They were Cairn and Bendearg, of two families 
at enmity with each other. 

"I was first at the top/' said Bendearg, "and called out 
first; lie down that I may pass over in peace." 

"When the Grant prostrates himself before the Mac- 
Pherson," answered the other, "it must be with a sword 
driven through his body." 

"Turn back then," said Bendearg, "and repass as you 
came." 

" Go back yourself, if you like," replied Grant, "I will not 
. be the first of my name to turn before the MacPherson.'' 

They then threw their bonnets over the precipice, and 
advanced with a slow and cautious step, closer to each other. 
They were both unarmed. Stretching their limbs like men 
preparing for a desperate struggle, they planted their feet 



186 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

firmly on the ground, compressed their lips, knit their dark 
eyebrows, and fixing fierce and woeful eyes upon each other 
stood ready for the onset. 

They both grappled at the same moment; but being of 
equal strength, were unable for some time to shift each 
other's position — standing fixed on the rock, with sup- 
pressed breath, and muscles strained to the utmost, like 
statues carved out of solid stone. 

At length, MacPherson, suddenly removing his right foot, 
so as to give him a greater purchase, stooped his body, and 
bent his enemy down with him by main strength, until they 
both leaned over the precipice, looking downward into the 
frightful abyss. The contest was as yet doubtful, for Grant 
had placed his foot firmly on the elevation at the brink, 
and had equal command of his enemy; but at this moment 
MacPherson sank slowly and firmly on his knee, and while 
Grant suddenly started back, stooping to take the supposed 
advantage, MacPherson whirled him over his head into the 
gulf. MacPherson himself fell backwards, his body partly 
hanging over the rock — a fragment gave way beneath him, 
and he sank further until, catching with desperate effort 
at the solid stone above, he regained his footing. There 
was a pause of death-like stillness: the bold heart of Mac- 
Pherson felt sick and faint. At length, as if compelled un- 
willingly, by some mysterious feeling, he looked down over 
the precipice. Grant had caught with a death-grip by the 
ragged point of a rock — his enemy was yet almost within 
his reach. His face was turned upward, and there was in it 
horror and despair; but he uttered no word or cry. 

The next moment he loosed his hold, and his brains were 
dashed out before the eyes of his hereditary foe. The 
mangled body disappeared among the trees. A last, heavy 
sound arose from the bottom of the abyss. MacPherson 
returned home an altered man. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 187 

The Gaelic name of the place where this tragedy was en- 
acted signifies Hell Bridge. 

— Anonymous. 
98.— A LETTER TO HEAVEN 

Two pennies dropped on the counter in the New York 
Post-Office. The postal clerk looked up. He was not in 
a very good humor, for the hard work he was doing during 
the busy Christmas holidays was too much for him. When 
he looked up, he saw a little golden head and two bright 
eyes gazing anxiously at him. 

"Well!" he remarked snappishly. 

The little girl hesitated a moment; then she plucked up 
courage. 

" Please, sir! " she began, "I want a stamp for this to send 
^ it to my little brother." 

In her hand she held a small package, wrapped in brown 
paper, and roughly tied with coarse twine. It was almost 
falling apart in her tiny hands. She held the parcel out to 
the clerk, who took it with the same grace with which he 
had been receiving thousands of packages during the Yule- 
tide. He looked at the address to see whether it was for- 
eign or domestic mail. Then he glanced at the child. 
There came into his eyes a strange look that was not there 
before. Post-office clerks handle a great many queer par- 
cels, and any quantity of them addressed to Santa Claus, 
but this one was not for Santa Claus. It read: 
Harold Newton — Heaven. 

For a moment the clerk paused. The child began to sus- 
pect that she had failed to pay the required amount of 
postage. Her fingers fumbled at a wee purse, where two 
more pennies were in keeping. She placed them on the 
counter. 

"Here are two more pennies, sir! Please take it now! 
l I haven't any more money left!" 



e(C) 



f(C) 



h(C) 



188 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

" Why, my child," said the clerk, who was thinking of his 
own little darlings at home, "I " 

"Oh, please, sir!" pleaded the child, ready to burst into 

tears. "It's for my little brother in heaven. He died last 

Thursday, and there are so many children in heaven, that 

perhaps God has forgotten to give Harold a Trismas present. 

. He'll be very sad, sir! " 

Tears were now in the clerk's eyes. He thought of his 
own little flaxen-haired daughter. The child was sobbing; 
her lips were quivering. 

"Oh, sir, it's all right!" she cried. "It's my very own 

to give away. Santa Claus brought it to me on Trismas. 

Papa and mamma don't know about it. They cried all day 

Trismas, 'cause Harold went to live with the angels. But 

. I want to send this to him." 

She was crying bitterly now; you would think her heart 
was breaking. The clerk explained that the mail was not 
sent to heaven; it was not because she had not enough pen- 
nies to pay for the postage, but because no railroad went to 
the angels. He was as tender as he could be, and a woman, 
dressed in black, who was listening to the child's pleadings, 
began to weep. The clerk handed the package back to the 
child, who was now crying convulsively. 

"Harold will have no Trismas present!" she sobbed. 

"Yes, he will, darling!" answered the lady in black. 
" Give me your gift, and I will send it to your brother! " 

The child was so suddenly overjoyed that she did not 
think of asking how the parcel would be sent. She danced 
away in glee, saying: "Oh, thank you, lady! Harold will 
. be happy now!" 

The lady opened the package, and beheld a tiny white 
lamb, tied with a pink ribbon. She kept the precious 
object as a memory of the most touching scene she had ever 
witnessed . —Anonymous. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 189 



99.— THE THREE WISHES 



a There was once a wise emperor who made a law that a 
fried fish should be served to every stranger who came to 
his court. The servants were told to take notice if, when 
the stranger had eaten the fish to the bone on one side, he 
turned it over, and began on the other side. If he did, he 
was to be seized immediately, and on the third day there- 
after he was to be put to death. But by a great stretch of 
imperial clemency, the culprit was permitted to utter one 
wish each day, which the emperor pledged himself to grant, 
provided it was not to spare the prisoner's life. 

b Many had already perished in consequence of this edict, 
when one day a count and his young son presented them- 
selves at court. The fish was served as usual, and when 
the count had removed all the fish from one side, he turned 
it over, and was about to commence on the other, when he 
was suddenly seized and thrown into prison, where he was 
told of his approaching doom. Sorrow-stricken, the count's 
son besought the emperor to allow him to die in his father's 
stead; a favor which the monarch was pleased to accord 
him. 
c(C) As soon as this had been done, the young man said to his 
jailers: "You know that I have the right to make three 
demands before I die; go, and tell the emperor to send me 
his daughter, and a priest to marry us! " 

d This demand was not much to the emperor's taste, but 
he felt bound to keep his word, and therefore complied with 
the youth's request, to which the princess made no objection 
whatever. This occurred in times when kings kept their 
treasures in caves, or in a tower set apart for the purpose, 
like the Emperor of Morocco in our day; and on the second 
day of his imprisonment the young man demanded the 
Emperor's treasures. If his first wish was a bold one, the 



190 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



f(C) 



g(C) 



h(C) 



second was not less so; still the royal word is sacred, and 
having made the promise, the emperor was forced to keep 
it, and the treasures of gold, silver and jewels were placed 
at the prisoner's disposition. 

On getting them, the count's son distributed them pro- 
fusely among the courtiers, and soon made a host of friends 
by his liberality. 

The emperor now began to feel exceedingly uncomfort- 
able. Being unable to sleep, he rose early on the third 
morning, and went, with fear in his heart, to the prison to 
hear what the third wish was to be. 

" Now," said he to the prisoner, " tell me what your third 
wish is, that it may be granted at once, and that you may 
be hung out of hand, for I'm mighty tired of you and your 
demands." 

"Sire," answered the youth very gravely, "I have but 

one more favor to ask of your majesty, and, when you will 

have granted it, I will die happily. It is merely that you 

will cause the eyes of those who saw my father turn the fish 

. over to be put out." 

"Now that's what I call reasonable and very natural," 
replied the emperor, "and such demands spring from a good 
heart. Let the chamberlain be seized, and brought hither," 
he continued, turning to his guards. 

"I, sire!" cried the chamberlain, when brought forward, 
"I — I — I — didn't see anything; it was the steward." 

"Seize the steward, then!" shouted the emperor. 

But the steward protested with tears in his eyes that he 
had not witnessed anything of what had been reported, and 
referred the matter to the butler, who in his turn swore that 
he had seen nothing of the matter, and accordingly impli- 
cated the valets. These latter worthies pleaded dense 
ignorance of what had been charged against the count. In 
i. short, it turned out that nobody could be found who would 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 191 

admit being a witness of the offense; whereupon the princess 
said: 

"I appeal to you, my father, as to another Solomon. If 
no one saw the deed committed, the count cannot be guilty, 
. and my husband is innocent/ J 
j f The emperor shuffled his feet, shrugged his shoulders, 
shook his head, frowned savagely, and forthwith the cour- 
tiers began to murmur; but his majesty suddenly became 
bright with smiles, and immediately the courtiers' counte- 
nances became radiant. 

"Let it be as it is, then!" exclaimed the emperor, "let 
him live, although I have put to death many a man for 
lighter offenses than the count's. But if he is not hung, he 
. is married, and so justice has been done." Anonymous 

100.— KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT 

a In the reign of King John of England there lived an 
Abbot who was so well loved and was so liberal to the poor 
that a hundred poor friends dined each day with him, and 
fifty knights in velvet coats and gold chains waited upon 
him daily out of pure gratitude for benefits received. 

b Now King John was a very vain and jealous man, and 
could not brook the idea of anyone in his kingdom being 
more honored than himself. So he summoned the Abbot 
to his presence. 
c(C) "Father Abbot," said the king, "all that is in this fair 
realm of England is our own, and thou hast no right to put 
to shame thy king by holding such state. However, of my 
clemency, I will spare thee thy life and thy property, if 
thou canst answer me but three questions. Tell me where 
the center of the world is; then let me know how soon I 
can ride around the world; and lastly tell me what I am 
thinking about." 



192 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

He gave the Abbot three days to get his answers ready, 
and then dismissed him. On his way home the Abbot met 
his chief shepherd. 

" Welcome home, my Lord Abbot," was the greeting; 
"what news from good King John?" 

"Sad news, sad news, my good fellow," and he told the 
shepherd all that had happened. 

"Now cheer up, my dear master," answered the shep- 
herd, "for I will go to London in your stead, for a fool may 
answer what a wise man would never think of. Grant me 
leave to wear your apparel, and I will settle the case to the 
, king's discomfiture. " 

The Abbot consented, and the shepherd, with the cowl 
over his face, and accompanied by the Abbot's friends, 
presented himself before the king. 

"Welcome, welcome, indeed!" said the king. "Now tell 
me where the center of the world is." 

"Right beneath me, my liege; if your majesty does not 
.believe me, go measure it, and see." 

"A shrewd answer. But how soon may I ride around 
the round earth?" 

"If your majesty will graciously rise with the sun, and 
ride along with him until he rises the next morning, your 
.grace will surely have ridden around the world." 

"I did not think it could be done so soon," said the 
king. "But let that pass, and tell me what I am thinking 
about!" 

"That is easy, your majesty! Your grace thinks I am 
the Abbot of Canterbury, but, as you see," and here he 
.raised the cowl, "I am but his chief shepherd." 

Loud laughed the king. 

"Thou hast a merry, nimble wit, and tell the Father 
Abbot that I confess myself a fool to have shown myself 
Jealous of one of God's holiest servants!" 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 193 

i f With these words the king sent the shepherd and his 
| companions home with a right royal present for himself 
Land the Abbot. 

— " More English Fairy Tales." Edited by Joseph Jacobs. Pub- 
lished by G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London. 



101.— DEAF AS A POST 

About five o'clock, one winter's evening, a gentleman on 
horseback stopped at an inn which was full of travelers. 
He rode into the yard, and calling loudly to the ostler, 
said, "Here, take care of my horse, and put him in the 
stable." 

"We have no room," said the ostler; "the stable is 
full." 

"Yes, yes," replied the gentleman, seeming not to hear, 
"I will think of you to-morrow." 

"But I tell you, there is no room. 7 ' 

"Ay, ay, give him a peck of oats, and as much hay as 
he can eat," said the horseman; — and leaving his horse, 
Lhe made the best of his way into the house. 

"He must be .a fool," remarked the ostler. 

"I think he is deaf," replied the stable-boy; "but at all 
events, we must take care of his horse, for we are answer- 
Lable for it." 

The traveler now entered the house, and the landlady 
told him, as the ostler had done, that it was impossible to 
lodge him. He shouted out loud enough to stun her, "No 
compliments, no ceremony, I beg, madam; your accommo- 
dation will be very good. I am easily satisfied, and it is 
quite useless for you to speak, for I am so deaf that I 
cannot hear a cannon." 

He then took a chair, and seated himself by the fire, as 
if he were at home. Finding no means of getting rid of 



194 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

him, the landlady and her husband determined to let him 
pass the night on the chair, as the beds were all engaged. 

f Shortly after he saw the dinner served in the next room, 
and immediately taking his chair, he placed himself at the 
table. It was to no purpose that they bawled to him as 
loud as they could that it was private company and they 
would not receive a stranger; he appeared to think that 
they wished to give him the top of the table, and thanking 
them for their politeness, he declared himself very com- 
fortable where he was. 

g Seeing that they could not make him understand, they 
let him remain; and after eating a hearty meal, he threw 
a two-franc piece on the table to pay for the repast; but 
the landlady pushed it towards him with disdain, saying, 
"What! do you suppose that two francs will pay for such 
a dinner as you have devoured ?" 
h(C) "Oh! I beg pardon, ma'am," he put in, "I insist on pay- 
ing for my own dinner. I thank these gentlemen for their 
politeness, but I will not allow them to foot the bill." 

i Then looking at his watch, he left the room, wishing them 
all good night, and soon found his way to a bedroom. 
The company, after laughing heartily at his apparent stu- 
pidity, sent a servant to see where he had gone. She soon 
returned, saying that he had taken possession of one of 
their bedrooms. 

j f They then agreed to go, all together, and turn him out 
by force; but when they approached the door, they heard 
the stranger barricading it with the furniture, and talking 
loudly to himself. They listened and heard him say: 

"What an unfortunate situation is mine! Anyone 

might break open my door, and I should not hear it; those 

gentlemen may be all honest men, and the} r may not; 

therefore, as I have some money with me, I will not run 

. any risk. No, I will not go to bed, nor put out the light; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 195 

j f I will sit up all night with my pistols cocked, and if any- 

1 one should enter, I will kill him instantly. " 
k Hearing this, the eavesdroppers made no attempt to 
dislodge him; and the stranger went to bed, and passed 
the night very quietly, leaving the gentleman who had 
engaged the bed to find lodging where he could. 

The next morning, the traveler came down stairs, went 
to the stable for his horse, led him to the door, by which 
time the company were assembled to have another laugh 
at him. As soon as he was mounted, he threw to the 
groom thirty sous for tending to his horse, paid for his 
lodging, and then, changing his manner, he said: 

" Gentlemen, I thank you again for the kindness and con- 
sideration you have shown me. I have to beg pardon of one 
of you for having taken his bed; but one of my friends was 
refused a lodging here last night, and he wagered twenty 
louis that I could not procure one; so I played the deaf man 
to some effect. I leave you to judge how well I did it." 

He then spurred his horse, and left them in amazement. 

— Anonymous. 



102.— THE WEATHER VANE AND THE POACHER 

One of the weather vanes in Frankfort bears a number 
nine, neatly pricked on its surface by nine holes. The 
legend relates that a poacher, having been caught and im- 
prisoned in the tower during nine weary days and nights, 
complained sorely of the creaking of the vane, which, he 
declared, had prevented him from finding a moment's rest. 

"Were I only free," said he, "I would show the good 
people of Frankfort how accurately I can aim by shooting 
as many holes in that accursed old weather vane as I have 
spent nights in this tower, and, what is more, those nine 
holes would form the number nine," 



196 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

The jailer reported this speech to the city councilors, 
who, anxious to see such a proof of skill, declared the 
poacher should be allowed to try to fulfill his vain boast. 
They added that, if he succeeded in touching the vane nine 
times, and formed a number nine with the holes, they 
would set him free. 

The poacher, brought before them, loaded his gun, aimed at 

the moving vane, and shooting, punched a hole in it. Nine 

times he shot, and each hole, round and near its fellow, helped to 

form the well-shaped number nine which won him his freedom. 

— "Legends of the Rhine," by H. A. Guerber. Copyright, 1895, 

by A. S. Barnes & Company. 

103.— THE DEATH-DICE 

In Germany, during the seventeenth century, two sol- 
diers, Alfred and Ralph, were suspected of murder, and were 
arrested. As both prisoners denied their guilt, and as even 
torture failed to extract a confession from them, Prince 
Frederick William decided to cut the Gordian knot with 
the dice-box. The two soldiers should throw for their lives, 
and the loser was to be executed as the murderer. 

The event was celebrated with great pomp and solemnity, 
and the prince himself assisted at the trial by dice. 

Ralph was given the first throw, and he threw sixes, the 
highest possible number. At this he felt jubilant, and 
showed his joy. The dice-box was handed to Alfred, who 
then fell on his knees and prayed aloud: 

" Almighty God, Thou knowest I am innocent. Protect 
. me, I beseech Thee!" 

Rising to his feet, he threw the dice with such force that 
one of them broke in two. The unbroken die showed six, 
the broken one also showed six on the larger portion, and 
the bit that had been split off also showed one, giving a total 
of thirteen, or one more than the throw of Ralph. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 197 

e The whole body of spectators thrilled with astonishment, 
while the prince exclaimed: "God has spoken! " Ralph, 
regarding the event as a sign from heaven, confessed his 
guilt, and was sentenced to death. 

— From Literary Digest. Copyright, 1903, by Funk & Wagnalls 
Company. 

104.— A CURIOUS DECISION 

a A poor chimney-sweeper, who had not enough money to 
buy a meal, stopped one hot summer day at noon before an 
eating-house, and remained regaling his nose with the smell 
of the victuals. The master of the shop told him several 
times to go away, but the sweep could not leave the savory 
smell, though unable to purchase the taste of the food. At 
last the cook came out of the shop, and taking hold of the 
sweep, declared that, as he had been feeding upon the smell 
of his victuals, he should not go away without paying half 
the price of a dinner. The poor fellow said that he neither 
could nor would pay, and that he would ask the first person 
who should pass, whether it was not an unreasonable and 
unjust demand. 
b The case was referred to a policeman, who happened to 
pass at that moment. He said to the sweep: "As you 
have been feasting one of your senses with the odor of this 
man's meat, it is but just you should make him some recom- 
pense; therefore you shall, in your turn, regale one of his 
senses, which seems to be more insatiable than your appe- 
tite. How much money have you?" 

c(C) f "I have but two pence in all the world, sir, and I must 
buy me some bread." 

"Never mind," answered the officer, "take your two 
. pence between your hands; now rattle them loudly." 

d(C) c The sweep did so, and the officer, turning to the cook, said : 
I "Now, sir, I think he has paid you: the smell of your 



198 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

d(C) f victuals regaled his nostrils; the sound of his money has 
I tickled your ears." 
e This decision gave more satisfaction to the by-standers 
than to the cook, but it was the only payment he could 
obtain. 

— Anonymous. 

105.— THE THREE SLEEPERS 

a Bonn, the birthplace of Beethoven, is noted for the ex- 
treme laziness of its inhabitants, who love to indulge their 
propensity for prolonged sleep. 
b Three young men of this town were said to be specially 
affected with somnolence. They considered it an unen- 
durable hardship to be forced to wake up and rise some time 
during the day, and resolved to withdraw to a cave outside 
the city, where they settled themselves comfortably for a 
long nap. 

Day after day passed by, and they slept peacefully on; 
but at the end of seven years one of them slowly opened his 
eyes, and sleepily muttered. 

" Do you hear that ox bellow? " He then sank back into 
a sound sleep. 

Seven years later, the second youth half opened his eyes, 
and hesitatingly answered: "It is not an ox, but a cow," 
and then relapsed into oblivion. 

The silence of the cave was again unbroken, save by the 
sleepers' long drawn breath, until another seven years had 
passed, when the third youth dreamily inquired: "What 
ox? what cow? Can't you let a fellow sleep in peace?" and 
then turned over to resume his slumbers. 

The three Bonn sleepers are said to occupy the cave even 
to this day, one of them waking for a moment every seven 
years. In turn they volunteer a few words, forming a 
conversation as thrillingly interesting as the one just 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 199 

recorded, which proves how witty lazy young men are apt 
to become. 

— " Legends of the Rhine," by H. A. Guerber. Copyright, 1895, 
by A. S. Barnes & Company. 



106.— AN OCTOBER SUNRISE 

I was up the next morning before the October sunrise, 
and away through the wild and the woodland. The rising 
of the sun was noble in the cold and warmth of it; peeping 
down the spread of light, he raised his shoulder heavily over 
the edge of gray mountain and wavering length of upland. 
Beneath his gaze the dew-fogs dipped and crept to the hol- 
low places, then stole away in line and column, holding 
skirts and clinging subtly at the sheltering corners where 
rock hung over grass-land, while the brave lines of the hills 
came forth, one beyond other gliding. 

The woods arose in folds, like drapery of awakened moun- 
tains, stately with a depth of awe, and memory of the tem- 
pests. Autumn's mellow hand was upon them, as they 
owned already, touched with gold and red and olive, and 
their joy towards the sun was less to a bridegroom than a 
father. 

Yet before the floating impress of the woods could clear 
itself, suddenly the gladsome light leaped over hill and 
valley, casting amber, blue, and purple, and a tint of rich 
red rose, according to the scene they lit on, and the curtain 
flung around; yet all alike dispelling fear and the cloven 
hoof of darkness, all on the wings of hope advancing, and 
proclaiming, "God is here!" Then life and joy sprang 
reassured from every crouching hollow; every flower and 
bud and bird had a fluttering sense of them, and all the 
flashing of God's gaze merged into soft beneficence. 

So, perhaps^ shall break upon us that eternal morning, 



d(C)[ 



200 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

when crag and chasm shall be no more, neither hill and 
valley, nor great unvintaged ocean; when glory shall not 
scare happiness, neither happiness envy glory; but all 
things shall arise, and shine in the light of the Father's 
countenance, because itself is risen. 

— Richard D. Blackmore, " Lorna Doone." 

107.— TRYING OLD PRESCRIPTIONS 

A crowd had gathered about a horse and buggy in the 
middle of the street. The horse had balked. 

" Tie a string around his ear! " said one of the by-standers. 
"It gives him something else to think about. It never 
fails!" 

This remedy was applied, but had no effect. 

"Blindfold him!" suggested a cabman. A bandage was 
tied over the horse's eyes, and an attempt was made to start 
him, but not with the hoped-for result. 

"Back him!" 

"He won't back!" shouted the exasperated owner. "I 
I tried that!" 

"Try him with an ear of corn!" 

The ear of corn failed to budge the obstinate brute. The 
owner then resorted to lashing and kicking the beast, but 
all in vain. 

Finally a benevolent old gentleman forced his way 
through the crowd, and suggested that a fire be built under 
the horse. A boy was accordingly sent to a neighboring 
furniture-store for some excelsior. The lad came back 
presently with a huge armful. It was placed on the ground 
under the horse, and a lighted match was touched to it. As 
the first feeble flame arose from it, and the smoke began to 
curl about the horse's legs, he unbent a little. He turned 
his head, took a calm survey of the situation, and when the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 201 

excelsior burst into a blaze, moved forward about five feet 
without any unnecessary haste, and stopped again. 

The elegant buggy was damaged to the extent of thirty- 
five dollars before it occurred to any one to scatter the blaz- 
ing excelsior. 

Just then an old colored man, in a faded suit of second- 
hand clothes, and a hat with the brim gone, came up and 
spoke kindly to the high-spirited horse, rubbed his nose, 
patted him on the back, climbed into the scorched buggy, 
and said: "Git along, sonny !" 

The horse moved off down the street at a brisk trot, with 
his head high in the air. 

— Anonymous. 

108.— A SON OF ADAM 

The morning was exceedingly hot, and a workman, dig- 
ging a trench in his master's field, suffered so intensely from 
the heat, that he became enraged to think that he had to 
labor so hard only because of Adam's sin. He complained 
very bitterly of his lot, and said some very hard things 
about Adam. 

It happened that his master overheard him, and he 
asked: "Why do you blame Adam? You would have 
done just as Adam did, if you had been in his place." 

"No, I should not!" replied the workman gruffly. "I 
should have known better!" 

"Well, I will test you! Come to me at dinner time!" 
. said the master. 

Noon came and the workman sat down with his master 

at a well-laden table. After saying grace, the master said: 

"Now, you may eat as much as you like from any of the 

dishes on the table; but do not touch the covered dish in the 

l middle there until I come back!" 

When the master had left the room, the workman helped 



202 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

himself plentifully out of each dish. Then he grew curious 
about the covered dish. 

"It must be something very delicious/' he said to himself. 
" Why shouldn't I just look at it? I won't touch it — there's 
. no harm in taking a wink at it ! " 
e So at last he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up 
the cover a tiny bit; but he could not see anything; then he 
lifted it a bit more, and out popped a mouse. The man 
tried to catch it, but it jumped off the table. The workman 
ran after it. It fled first into one corner, and then just as 
the workman thought he had it, off it scurried to another 
corner, and under the table, and all about the room. 
f The laborer made a great clatter in trying to capture the 
wee creature, and during the hubbub the master entered, 
and laughing heartily, said: "My good man, never blame 
Adam again!" 

— " More English Fairy Tales." Edited by Joseph Jacobs. Pub- 
lished by G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London. 

109.— PIERROT THE FAITHFUL 

a The frost was silvering the trees of the Park Monceau with 
dull, white powder, like the head of a marquis of the old 
regime. It was nine o'clock in the morning. The sun hung 
in the fog like a globe of fire, but cast forth no beams. The 
wind was cruel to the poor world. People walked rapidly 
along; women veiled their faces, and men drew their heads 
inside their collars. ... A female ragpicker, pale and 
famished, led by the bridle a poor donkey, which seemed a 
hundred years old, and which dragged a poor little cart, full 
of the rubbish of the street: rags, broken bottles, torn 
papers, worn-out skillets, crusts of bread — the thousand 
nothings which are the fortune of the rag-pickers. The 
woman had done good work since midnight, but the donkey 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 203 

was ready to drop. He stopped short, as if he had made 
up his mind to go no further. His legs trembled, and 
threatened a fall. He hung his head with resignation, as if 
awaiting the stroke of death. 

A man would have cursed and beaten the poor beast to 
rouse him; the woman looked at him with an eye of moth- 
erly pity. The donkey returned the look, as if saying, 
" You see it is all over. I have done my best for you, night 
after night, because I saw your misery was greater than 
mine. You have treated me well, sharing your bread with 
me, and your neighbors' oats, when you could get them; 
but I am dying at last! " 

The woman looked at him, and said gently, "Come, come, 
dear Pierrot, do not leave me here." She lightened the 
load by taking out a basket of broken bottles. "Come, 
now," she said, as if talking to a child, "you can get along 
nicely now." She put her shoulder to the wheel, but the 
donkey did not move. He knew he had not strength 
enough to walk to St. Ouen, his wretched home. She still 
coaxed him. "How do you think we can get along this 
way, Pierrot? To be sure, I could drag the cart. But I 
can't put you in it, and you would be ashamed to be dragged 
after it." The donkey raised his ears, but no move. 

I was going to speak to her, when she ran into the nearest 
wine-shop. The donkey followed her with anxious eyes; 
he seemed fearful that he would die without his mistress. 
He was so little you would have taken him at a distance for 
a Pyrenean dog. He had grown gray in the harness. A 
few tufts of gray hair remained here and there on his emaci- 
ated body. He looked like a mountain burned bare in 
many places. 

The rag-picker soon returned, bringing a piece of bread 
and a lump of sugar. The donkey turned and showed his 
teeth, like old piano keys. But, although it was his break- 



204 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

fast-time, he had no more strength in his mouth than in his 
legs. She gave him the sugar. He took it as if to oblige 
her, but dropped it again, and the same with the bread. 
f(C) ( I approached, and said to the woman: " Madame, let me 
buy this donkey and put him on the retired list. How 
much did he cost?" 

" Pierrot cost ten francs, sir." 

"Well, you go back to the abattoir, and buy another 
L donkey, and take care of this one for me." 
g I gave her my card, and said good-bye to her and the 
donkey. The latter started off in high spirits, the woman 
pushing the cart from behind. 
h(C) That evening the woman came to me in tears. I under- 
stood at once. " Oh, sir, he is gone — poor Pierrot! He got 
to St. Ouen one way or another; but when he came in sight 
of our hut he fell on his knees. I tried to raise him, but this 
time it was all over. My children came running and crying. 
They talked to him, and kissed him. He looked at them so 
sadly as to break our hearts. I tell you there are lots of 
people in the world not worth half as much as poor Pierrot. 
Think of it: he wanted to die at home after finishing his 
day's work." 

— Arsene Houssaye, "Pierrot the Faithful." 

110.— THE CRITICS SILENCED 

a A great crowd once assembled in the market-place at 
Dusseldorf to view the unveiling of the equestrian statue of 
the beloved Elector, John William. Gabriel Grupello, the 
artist, stood at his post, and at the signal given by the 
prince, dropped the veil. The statue, a masterpiece, ex- 
cited great admiration, and the artist's heart swelled with 
pride when he was greeted in terms of unqualified approval 
by the Elector. 






e(C) 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 205 

The courtiers, jealous of this unwonted mark of distinc- 
tion, eagerly sought something to depreciate, and as they 
dared not criticize the effigy, which the Elector had pro- 
nounced perfect, they took their revenge by disparaging 
the steed. One found fault with the hoofs, another with 
the withers, still another with the neck; in short, no part of 
the unfortunate quadruped could meet with the courtiers 7 
entire approval. 

Silently Grupello listened to all their comments, and 
when they had finished, he turned to the Elector, gravely 
entreating permission to erect a scaffolding around the 
statue once more, and to be allowed three days' work, 
screened from all inquisitive eyes and secured from every 
interruption. His request was granted, and during three 
days the heavy clang of the hammer resounded incessantly 
through the market-place. 

The courtiers, passing to and fro, heard the sound, and 
complacently congratulated themselves upon the valuable 
hints they had bestowed on the artist. The last day came, 
the hammering ceased, the scaffolding was removed, and 
once more the Elector and his suite gathered around the 
statue. 

"Well, my lords and gentlemen," said the Elector, "are 
you satisfied now?" 

"Yes, the hoofs are quite right now!" exclaimed the 
hoof-critic approvingly. 

"And the arch of the neck is no longer strained, but flexi- 
ble and proud," remarked another suavely. 

"See!" exclaimed a third, "the ears are now quite nat- 
ural!" 

Each courtier warmly praised the particular part he had 
hitherto condemned, and all, thinking the success was owing 
entirely to their timely suggestions, openly professed their 
satisfaction. 



206 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

With downcast eyes the sculptor listened to their praise, 
but, when they were through praising him, he raised his 
eyes and boldly spoke out: 

" Behold, your Highness, neck, hoof, ears, and withers are 
entirely unchanged, for a statue cast in bronze cannot be 
L altered !" 

h(C) " You have not changed it, Master Grupello?" exclaimed 
the Elector, astonished. "Pray tell me what you were 
hammering so vigorously?" 
i(C) "Oh!" replied the artist, carelessly shrugging his shoul- 
ders, "I was merely demolishing the reputation of the 
critics, who were jealous of the praise which your Highness 
so generously bestowed upon me." 

— " Legends of the Rhine," by H. A. Guerber. Copyright, 1895, 
by A. S. Barnes & Company. 

111.— THE WITCHERY OF OLD-TIME HOUSES 

a The worst of a modern stylish mansion is, that it has no 
place for ghosts. I watched one building not long since. 
It had no proper garret, to begin with, only a sealed interval 
between the roof and the attics, where a spirit could not be 
accommodated, unless it were flattened out. There was not 
a nook or a corner in the whole house to lodge any respec- 
table ghost. 

b Now the old house had wainscots, behind which the mice 
were always scampering and squeaking and rattling down 
the plaster, and enacting family scenes and parlor theatri- 
cals. It had a cellar where the cold slug clung to the walls, 
and the misanthropic spider withdrew from the garish day; 
where the green mold loved to grow, and the long white 
potato-shoots went feeling along the floor, if haply they 
might find the daylight; it had great brick pillars, always in 
a cold sweat with holding up the burden they had been 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 207 

« 
aching under day and night for a century or more; it had 
sepulchral arches closed by rough doors that hung on hinges 
rotten with dust, behind which doors, if there was not a 
heap of bones connected with a mysterious disappearance 
of long ago, there well might have been, for it was just the 
place to look for them. 

It had a garret with a flooring of laths with ridges of mor- 
tar squeezed up between them, which, if you tread on, you 
will go to — the Lord have mercy on you! where will you go 
to? — the same thing being crossed by narrow bridges of 
boards, on which you may put your feet, but with fear and 
trembling. Above you and around you are beams and 
joists, on some of which you may see, when the light is let 
in, the marks of the conchoidal clippings of the broadax, 
showing the rude way in which the timber was shaped as it 
came, full of sap, from the neighboring forest. 

It is a realm of darkness and thick dust and shroud-like 
cobwebs and dead things they wrap in their gray folds. 
For a garret is like a seashore, where wrecks are thrown up 
and slowly go to pieces. There is the cradle which the old 
man you just remember was rocked in; there is the ruin of 
the bedstead he died on; there is his old chair with both legs 
gone, symbol of the desolate time when he had nothing 
earthly left to lean on; there is the large wooden reel which 
the blear-eyed old deacon sent the minister's lady, who 
thanked him graciously, and twirled it smilingly, and in 
fitting season bowed it out decently to the limbo of trouble- 
some conveniences. 

And there are old leather portmanteaus, like stranded 
porpoises, their mouths gaping in gaunt hunger for the food 
with which they used to be gorged to bulging repletion; and 
old brass andirons, waiting until they can avenge them- 
selves on their paltry substitutes, and they shall have their 
own again, and bring with them the fore-stick and the back- 



208 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



log of ancient days; and the empty churn, with its idle 
dasher; and the brown, shaky old spinning-wheel, which was 
running, it may be, in the days when they were hanging the 
Salem witches. 

—Oliver Wendell Holmes, "The Poet at the Breakfast Table." 



112.— DEATH OF SPORUS, THE GLADIATOR 

The contest in the amphitheater had just commenced. 
The first interest was attracted towards the combat of 
Niger with Sporus; for this kind of contest, from the fatal 
result that usually attended it, and from the great science 
it required in the antagonists, was always peculiarly inviting 
to the spectators. 

The combatants stood at a considerable distance from 
each other for some moments, until Sporus began slowly, 
and with great caution, to advance, holding his sword 
pointed, like a modern fencer's, at the breast of his foe. 
Niger retreated as his antagonist advanced, gathering up 
his net with his right hand, and never taking his small glit- 
tering eye from the movements of the swordsman. Sud- 
denly, when Sporus had approached nearly at arm's length, 
the retiarius threw himself forward, and cast his net. A 
quick inflection of body saved the gladiator from the deadly 
snare. He uttered a sharp cry of joy and rage, and rushed 
upon Niger; but Niger had already drawn his net, thrown it 
across his shoulders, and now fled around the arena with 
Sporus in hot pursuit. 

Niger suddenly stopped, cast his net, but did not retreat 
with sufficient agility — the sword of Sporus had inflicted a 
severe wound upon the right leg of the retiarius, who by 
steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, repelled 
Sporus successfully for several minutes. Sporus now tried 
by great rapidity of revolution to get round his antagonist, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 209 

who necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so 
doing, the swordsman lost his caution— he advanced too 
near — raised his arm to strike, and received the three points 
of the fatal spear full in his breast. He sank on his knee. 
In a moment more the deadly net was cast over him — he 
struggled against its meshes in vain; again, again — again 
he writhed mutely beneath the fresh strokes of the trident — 
his blood flowed fast through the net and redly over the 
sand. He lowered his arms in acknowledgment of defeat. 

d The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning 
on his trident, looked to the spectators for their judgment. 
Slowly too, at the same time, the vanquished gladiator 
rolled his dim, despairing eyes around the theater. From 
row to row, from bench to bench, there glared upon him 
but merciless and.unpitying eyes. 

e Hushed was the roar — the murmur! The silence was 
dread, for in it was no sympathy; not a hand — no, not even 
a woman's hand — gave the signal of charity and life. The 
people were warmed into blood, and they gave the signal of 
death. In dogged but agonized submission Sporus bent his 
neck to receive the fatal stroke. Presently a grim and fatal 
form stalked into the arena. This dismal headsman came 
up to the still kneeling victim — laid the left hand on his 
humbled crest — drew the edge of the short sharp sword 
across his neck, and then the blade glittered brightly in the 
air — fell — and Sporus rolled upon the sand; his limbs quiv- 
ered — were still — he was a corpse. 

— Bulwer Lytton, " The Last Days of Pompeii." 

113.— JACK HANNAFORD 

a A penniless old soldier, Jack Hannaford, on his way home 
from the war came to a farm whose owner had gone to mar- 
ket that morning. The wife of the farmer was a very foolish 



210 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

woman, who had been a widow when he married her; the 
farmer himself was not troubled with too much brain, and 
this story will help you to decide whether the wife was more 
witless than her husband, or the husband more thick- 
skulled than his wife. 

Before the farmer went to market he said to his wife: 
"Here are ten pounds, all in gold; take care of it while I am 
gone." 

Off went the farmer in his cart, and his yoke-mate said to 
herself: 

"I will keep the ten pounds quite safe from thieves;" so 
she tied the coins up in a rag, and put the treasure in the 
t parlor chimney. 
d(C) f Shortly after this Jack Hannaford came up, and rapped 
at the door. 

"Who is there?" asked the wife. 

"Jack Hannaford!" 

" Where do you come from? " 

" From Paradise ! " 
e(C) [" "And maybe you saw Tom Turpin up there?" inquired 
the woman, alluding to her former husband. 

"Yes, indeed, I did." 

"And how is he?" 

"But middling; he cobbles old shoes, and as his stock of 
leather is out, he wants you to send him all the money you 
can to buy a fresh supply." 

"He shall have all I have, bless his soul!" exclaimed the 
woman; and off she went to the parlor chimney, took out 
the money, and gave the whole sum to the soldier, telling 
him that Tom was to use as much as he needed, and to send 
^back the rest. 
f It was not long that Jack waited after receiving the 
money; he went away as fast as his legs could take him; but 
he had not gone far when the farmer returned home, and 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 211 

asked for the money. The wife explained what she had 
done with it, much to her husband's anger. But there was 
no time to waste in words. The farmer mounted his horse, 
and went in pursuit of Jack. The old soldier heard the beat 
of the horse's hoofs behind him; so he knew that it must be 
the farmer pursuing him. Accordingly he lay down on the 
ground, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked up at 
the sky, and pointed heavenwards with his other hand. 
g(C) [ "What are you doing there?" demanded the farmer, 
pulling up. 

"Fve seen a rare sight!" exclaimed Jack. 
"What was that?" 

" A man going straight into the sky, as if he were walking 
on a road." 

"Can you see him still?" 
"Can I? Get off your horse, and lie down!" 
"Indeed I will!" 

"I cannot see him," said the farmer, lying on his back. 
"Shade your eyes with your hand, and you'll soon see a 
L man flying away from you." 
h The farmer did so see, indeed; for Jack leaped on the 
horse, and galloped away, and the victim walked home 
horseless. 
i(C) "You're a bigger fool than I am," said his wife, "for I 

did only one foolish thing, whereas you have done two of 
them!" 

— " English Fairy Tales." Edited by Joseph Jacobs. Published 
by G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London. 



114.— THE PEDLAR OF SWAFFHAM 

a In the olden days when London Bridge was lined with 
shops from one end to the other, and salmon swam under 
the arches, there lived at Swaffham, in Norfolk, a poor 



212 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

pedlar. He had much ado to make his living, trudging 
about with his pack on his back and his dog at his heels, 
and at the close of the day's labor was but too glad to sit 
down and sleep. 

Now it fell out that one night he dreamed that, if he went 
to the great bridge of London town, he would hear joyful 
news. He made little account of the dream, until he had 
dreamed the same dream twice over, and then he said to 
himself, "I must needs try the issue of it!" 

After a long, weary journey he reached London Bridge. 

All day long he paced to and fro, but he heard nothing that 

might yield him comfort. 

d(C) [ On the third day a shopkeeper, who for a long time had 

watched him tramping up and down, went to him and said: 

" Friend, have you wares to sell?" 

"No/sir!" 

"And you do not beg for alms?" 

"Not so long as I can keep myself from starving." 

"Then why do you roam about here?" 

" Well, kind sir, to tell the truth, I dreamed that if I came 
. hither, I should hear good news." 
e(C) "Now yours is a silly errand," answered the shopkeeper, 
laughing. "I tell you, you poor, silly country bumpkin, 
that last night I dreamt that I was in Swaffham, a place 
clean unknown to me, and I thought I was in an orchard 
behind a pedlar's house, and in that orchard was a huge oak 
tree. I thought that I digged under that tree and found a 
great treasure. But do you think I'm such a fool as to 
journey to Swaffham, and all on account of a silly dream? 
No, my good fellow, learn wit from a wiser man than your- 
self. Get you hence, and mind your own business!" 
f The pedlar, who was a shrewd fellow, said not a word, but 
returned home speedily, digged beneath the oak tree, and 
found a prodigiously large treasure. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 213 

He grew exceedingly rich, but never forgot his duty to 
God and his neighbor in the pride of his wealth. For he 
built a magnificent church in Swaffham, and when he died, 
his townsmen erected a statue of him in the public square. 
And there it stands to this day. 

— " More English Fairy Tales.' ' Edited by Joseph Jacobs. Pub- 
lished by G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London. 



115.— WHICH WAS THE HEIR? 

A jeweler, who carried on an extensive trade, and sup- 
plied the deficiencies of one country with the superfluities 
of another, left his home with a valuable assortment of dia- 
monds, and went to a distant region to dispose of them. 
He took with him his son and a young slave, whom he had 
purchased when the child was very young. The jeweler 
looked upon the lad more like an adopted child than a 
servant. 

On his way home after the happy issue of his trip, the 
jeweler was suddenly seized with a pestilence, and was 
carried off by it. The slave immediately made up his mind 
to possess himself of his master's wealth, and to this end 
declared himself the son of the deceased. The true heir, of 
course, denied the slave's pretensions. The slave was a 
young man of comely appearance and of polished manners; 
whereas the jeweler's son was ill-favored by nature, and 
still more injured in his education, through the indulgence 
of his parents. 

The matter of heirdom was referred to a court of law; but 
from a total lack of proof, nothing could be done. The 
magistrate declared his inability to decide on unsupported 
assertions, in which each party was equally positive. 

At length, however, the judge engaged to ascertain the 
real heir, The two claimants being called before him, he 



214 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ordered them to stand behind a curtain prepared for the oc- 
casion, and to project their heads through two openings, 
when, after hearing their several arguments, he would cut 
off the head of him who should prove to be the slave. 

This was readily agreed to: the one from reliance on his 
honesty; the other from a confidence of the impossibility of 
detection. Accordingly each, taking his place as ordered, 
thrust his head through the hole in the curtain. An officer 
stood before them with a drawn scimiter in his hand, and 
the judge proceeded with the examination. 

After a short debate, the judge cried out: " Enough! 
Strike off the villain's head!" 

The officer, who watched the moment, leaped forward 
towards the two youths; the impostor, startled at the brand- 
ished weapon, hastily drew back his head, while the jewel- 
er's son, animated by conscious security, stood unmoved. 

The judge instantly ordered the slave to be taken into 
custody and to suffer a condign punishment. 

— Anonymous. 

116.— THE HEROISM OF JOHN BINNS 

Thirteen years have passed, but it is all to me as if it 
happened yesterday — the clanging of the fire bells, the 
hoarse shouts of the firemen, the wild rush and terror of 
the streets; then the great hush that fell upon the crowd; 
the sea of upturned faces with the fire-glow upon it; and up 
there, against the background of black smoke that poured 
from roof and attic, the boy clinging to the narrow ledge, so 
far up that it seemed humanly impossible that help could 
ever come. 

But even then it was coming. 

Up from the street, while the crew of the truck company 
- were laboring with the heavy extension ladder that at its 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



215 



r longest stretch was many feet too short, crept four men 
upon long, slender poles with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the 
end. Standing in one window they reached up and thrust 
the hook through the next one above, then mounted a story 
higher. Again the crash of glass, and again the dizzy ascent. 
Straight up the wall they crept, looking like human flies on 
the ceiling, and clinging as close, never resting, reaching one 
recess only to set out for the next; nearer and nearer in the 
race for life, until but a single span separated the foremost 
from the boy. And now the iron hook fell at his feet, and 
the fireman stood upon the step with the rescued lad in his 
arms, just as the pent-up flame burst lurid from the attic 
window, reaching with impotent fury for its prey. The 
next moment they were safe upon the great ladder waiting 

, to receive them below. 

Then arose a deafening shout. Men fell on each other's 
necks, and laughed, and cried at once. Strangers slapped 
one another on the back with glistening faces, and behaved 
like men suddenly gone mad. Women wept in the street. 
The driver of a car, stalled in the crowd, who had stood 
through it all speechless, clutching the reins, whipped his 
horses into a gallop, and drove away, yelling like a Co- 
manche to relieve his feelings. The boy and his rescuer 
were carried across the street without any one knowing how. 
Policemen forgot their dignity, and shouted with the rest. 
Fire, peril, terror, and loss were alike forgotten in the one 
touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. 

Fireman John Binns was made captain of his crew, and 
the Bennet Medal was pinned on his coat on the next 
parade day. 

— From " Heroes Who Fight Fire," by Jacob A. Riis. Copyright, 
1898, by The Century Company. 



21 6 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

117.— BETH GELLERT 

Prince Llewelyn had a favorite greyhound named Gel- 
lert, that had been given to him by his father-in-law, King 
John. The dog was as gentle as a lamb at home, but a very 
lion in the chase. 

One day the prince went hunting, and blew his horn in 
front of his castle. All his other hounds came at the call, 
but Gellert did not answer it. So Llewelyn blew a louder 
blast, and called Gellert by name, but still the greyhound 
did not come. At last the prince could wait no longer, and 
went off to hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that 
day, because Gellert, the swiftest and boldest of his hounds, 
was not with him. 

The prince returned to his castle in rage, and as he came 
to the gate, Gellert bounded out to meet him. But when 
the hound was at his master's side, Llewelyn was startled 
to see that the dog's lips and fangs were dripping with 
blood. He started back, and the greyhound crouched at 
his feet, as if surprised, or afraid at the way his master 
greeted him. 

Now Prince Llewelyn had a little son a year old, with 
whom Gellert used to play, and a terrible thought crossed 
the father's mind that made him rush towards the child's 
nursery. The nearer he approached, the more blood and 
disorder he found about the rooms. He soon reached the 
nursery, and found the child's cradle overturned and 
daubed with blood. 

The prince grew more and more terrified, and sought for 
his little son everywhere. He could not find the child, but 
only signs of some frightful conflict in which much blood 
had been shed. At last he felt sure that the dog had de- 
stroyed his infant son, and shouted for Gellert: " Monster, 
thou hast devoured my child!" He drew out his sword, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 217 

and plunged it into the greyhound's side. The dog fell with 
a deep yell, still gazing in his master's eyes. 

Just as Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry 
answered it from beneath the cradle, and then Llewelyn 
found the lad unharmed and just awakened from sleep. 
Beside him lay the body of a great gaunt wolf, torn to pieces 
and covered with blood. Too late Llewelyn learned what 
had happened while he was away. Gellert had stayed 
behind to guard the child, and had fought and slain the 
wolf that had tried to kill Llewelyn's heir. 

The prince buried the faithful hound, and over the grave 
raised a large cairn of stones. To this day the place is called 
BETH GELLERT, or the grave of Gellert. 

— "Celtic Fairy Tales." Edited by Joseph Jacobs, Published 
by G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York and London. 

118.— THE DEVIL AND THE ROOSTER 

The beautiful red sandstone bridge, which spans the 
river Main at Frankfort, and on which stands a fine statue 
of Charlemagne, was built in 1342. Previous to that date 
many architects had attempted to build a bridge there, but 
the winter ice and spring freshets invariably carried away 
their pillars. This prevented the completion of the work, 
and all would-be builders had given up the project with a 
muttered, " Devil take the bridge! " 

Finally an architect, more worldly-wise than his predeces- 
sors, fancied that the devil had probably taken them at 
their word. So he called upon his Satanic Majesty, and 
asked permission to begin the bridge, and bespoke his help 
in finishing it. 

Satan was well pleased with this request, and promised 
his aid, upon condition that the first living creature which 
crossed the bridge on the day it was opened would be deliv- 



218 TEACHERS 3 HANDBOOK 

ered up to his tender mercies. The contract was agreed to, 
and the bridge was in due time completed. 

All the town magistrates then assembled to open the 
bridge, while the people of Frankfort, in gala attire, formed 
a long procession behind them. 

On reaching the head of the bridge, the master of cere- 
monies paused, and called the architect, who was walking 
modestly in the rear. With a graceful gesture he then bade 
him pass first and lead the march, as was his due. 

Pale and stammering, the architect refused the honor, 
urging that he could not think of preceding the master of 
ceremonies, who, curled, perfumed, and as pompous as a 
drum-major, really considered the honor as belonging to 
himself. He was about to ride forward, therefore, and be 
the first upon the bridge, when an old market-woman, who 
had a live chicken in her basket, suddenly held up her hands 
in admiration of the master of ceremonies' fine appearance. 
The basket-lid, no longer held down, opened violently, and a 
distracted rooster flew out with a squawk almost directly 
under the feet of the prancing steed. The fowl, as chickens 
will, instead of retreating to either side of the road, began 
to zigzag wildly in front of the horse, and then fluttered 
upon the bridge, still uttering a frightened cackle. Sud- 
denly, however, it disappeared, and the people standing near 
declared they saw a claw-like hand clutch it, heard some 
angry imprecations, and caught the fumes of brimstone. 

When the architect heard the report, he frankly con- 
fessed the bargain which he had made with the fiend, and 
the people were beside themselves with joy when they 
heard how nicely an old rooster had cheated the devil. 

As a memento of this occurrence they placed a golden 
effigy of a rooster upon the bridge. 

— " Legends of the Rhine," by H. A. Guerber. Copyright, 1895, 
by A. S. Barnes & Company. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 219 

119.— THE NIGHT STORM 

One wintry evening a keen north wind arose as it grew 
dark, and night came on with black and dismal looks. A 
bitter storm of sleet, dense and ice-cold, swept the wet 
streets, and rattled on the trembling windows. Sign- 
boards, shaken past endurance in their creaking frames, fell 
crashing on the pavement; old tottering chimneys reeled 
and staggered in the blast; and many a steeple rocked again 
that night, as though the earth were troubled. 

It was not a time for those, who could by any means get 
light and warmth, to brave the fury of the weather. In 
coffee-houses of the better sort, guests crowded round the 
fire, forgot to be political, and told each other with a secret 
gladness that the blast grew fiercer every minute. Each 
humble tavern by the water-side had its group of uncouth 
figures round the hearth, who talked of vessels foundering 
at sea, and all the hands lost; related many a dismal tale of 
shipwreck and drowned men, and hoped that some they 
knew were safe, and shook their heads in doubt. In private 
dwellings, children clustered near the blaze; listening with 
timid pleasure to tales of ghosts and goblins, and tall figures 
clad in white standing by bedsides, and people who had 
gone to sleep in old churches and being overlooked had 
found themselves alone there at the dead hour of the night, 
until they shuddered at the thought of the dark rooms 
up-stairs, yet loved to hear the wind moan too, and hoped 
it would continue bravely. From time to time these happy 
in-door people stopped to listen, or one held up his finger 
and cried, "Hark!" and then above the rumbling in the 
chimney, and the fast pattering on the glass, was heard a 
wailing, rushing sound, which shook the walls as though a 
giant's hand were on them; then a hoarse roar as if the sea 
had risen; then such a whirl and tumult that the air seemed 



220 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

mad ; and then, with a lengthened howl, the waves of wind 
swept on, and left a moment's interval of rest. 

Cheerily, though there were none abroad to see it, shone 
the May-pole Tavern light that evening. Blessings on the 
deep-red, ruby-glowing-red, old curtains of the window, 
blending into one rich stream of brightness, fire and candle, 
meat, drink, and company, and gleaming like a jovial eye 
upon the bleak waste out of doors! Within, what carpet 
like its crunching sand, what music merry as its crackling 
logs, what perfume like its kitchen's dainty breath, what 
weather genial as its hearty warmth! Blessings on the old 
house, how sturdily it stood! How did the vexed wind 
chafe and roar about its stalwart roof; how did it pant and 
strive with its wide chimneys, which still poured forth from 
their hospitable throats great clouds of smoke, and puffed 
defiance in its face; how, above all, did it drive and rattle 
at the casement, emulous to extinguish that cheerful glow, 
which would not be put down and seemed the brighter for 
the conflict. 

— Charles Dickens, " Barnaby Rudge." 

120.— THE THREE CAKES 

A certain carpenter, residing in a city near the sea, very 
covetous and very wicked, collected a large sum of money, 
and placed it in the trunk of a tree, which he stationed by 
his fireside, and which he never lost sight of. A place like 
this, he thought, no one could suspect; but it happened that 
while all his household slept, the sea overflowed its bound- 
aries, broke down that side of the building where the log was 
situated, and carried it away. It floated many miles from 
its original destination, and reached, at length, a great city. 
Arising early one morning, one of the citizens perceived the 
trunk of a tree in the water, and thinking it would be of 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 221 

service to him, he brought it to his own home. He was a 
liberal, kind-hearted man, and a great benefactor to the 
poor. It one day chanced that he entertained some pilgrims 
in his house; and the weather being extremely cold, he cut 
up the log for firewood. When he had struck two or three 
blows with the ax, he heard a rattling sound, and cleaving 
the log in twain, the money rolled out in all directions. 
Greatly rejoicing at the discovery, he deposited the coins 
in a secure place, until he should ascertain the owner. 

Now the carpenter, bitterly lamenting the loss of his 
money, traveled from place to place in pursuit of it. He 
came, by accident, to the house of the hospitable man who 
had found the trunk of the tree. The carpenter failed not 
to mention the object of his quest; the host, understanding 
that the money belonged to his guest, reflected whether his 
title to it were good. "I will prove, " said he to himself, 
"if God will that the money should be returned to him." 
Accordingly, he made three cakes, the first of which he 
filled with earth; the second with the bones of dead men; 
and in the third he put a quantity of the gold he had dis- 
covered in the log. 

"Friend," said he, addressing the carpenter, "we will 
eat three cakes. Choose which you will have." The car- 
penter did as he was directed; he took the cakes, and 
weighed them in his hand, one after the other, and find- 
ing the cake with the earth weigh heaviest, he chose it. 
"And if I want more," he added, laying his hand upon the 
cake containing the bones, "I will take that one, my worthy 
host. You may keep the third one for yourself." 

"I see clearly," murmured the host, "I see very clearly 
that God does not will the money to be restored to this 
wretched man." Calling, therefore, the poor and the in- 
firm, the blind and the lame, and opening the cake of gold in 
the presence of the carpenter, he said: "Thou miserable 



222 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

varlet, this is thine own gold. But thou preferredst the 
cake of earth and dead men's bones. I am persuaded, 
therefore, that God wills not that I return thee thy money. " 
Without delay, he distributed the whole amount amongst 
the paupers, and drove the carpenter away in great tribula- 
tion. 

— From the " Gesta Romanorum." 



121.— THE DERVISE AND THE FOUR ROBBERS 

A Dervise had once made a purchase of a fine fat sheep, 
intending to offer it up in sacrifice; and having tied a cord 
about its neck, was leading it to his home, when four thieves 
perceived him, and instantly made up their minds to steal 
the sheep. They knew the Dervise to be an honest, inoffen- 
sive man, and one who thought of no more harm in others 
than he had in himself. They dared not, however, take the 
sheep away from the Dervise by force, for they were too 
near the city; therefore they made use of this stratagem: 
they first parted company, and then accosted the Dervise, 
as if they had come from several distinct parts. 

The first thief, who had contrived to meet him full-face, 
said, "My good old man, whither are you leading this dog?" 

At this instant the second robber, coming from another 
quarter, cried to him, " Venerable old man, I hope you have 
not so far forgot yourself as to have stolen this dog"; and 
immediately after him, the third coming up, asked him, 
" Whither are you going with that handsome greyhound?" 

The poor Dervise began to doubt whether the sheep which 
he had was a sheep or not. But the fourth robber put him 
quite beside himself by approaching him and asking what 
the dog cost him. 

The Dervise, absolutely persuaded that four men, coming 
from four several directions, could not all be deceived. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 223 

verily believed that the grazier who had sold him the sheep 
was a conjurer, and had bewitched his sight; inasmuch that, 
no longer giving credit to his own eyes, he began to be firmly 
convinced that the sheep he was leading was a dog. In full 
persuasion of this, the Dervise went back to the market to 
demand his money of the grazier, leaving the wether with 
the felons, who made off with it. 

— A Fable of Pilpay. 

122.— CLEARING A MYSTERY 

A few years ago some persons were traveling in a stage- 
coach toward London, and at the approach of night they 
began to express their fears of being attacked by highway- 
men. One gentleman said that he had ten guineas about 
him, and did not know where to hide them for safety. A 
lady, who sat next to him, advised him to conceal them in 
his boots, which he immediately did. 

Soon after a highwayman came up, and demanded their 
purses: the lady told him to search that gentleman's boots; 
as for herself she had no money. The astonished traveler 
was obliged to submit, and lost his money, but as soon as the 
robber was gone, he loaded the lady with abuse, declaring 
she was a confederate of the thief. She acknowledged that 
appearances were against her, but added that if the trav- 
elers would all do her the honor to dine with her the follow- 
ing day, she would explain, to their satisfaction, her con- 
duct, which appeared so mysterious. 

They consented, and after partaking of a sumptuous 
repast, the lady led them to the drawing room, where, show- 
ing a purse, she said: 

" There is an apology for my behavior of last night; it 

contains bank-notes for eight hundred pounds/ ' Then 

, addressing herself to the gentleman, she said: "Sir, if I had 



224 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

not directed the highwayman's attention to your ten 
guineas, I should have lost my bank-notes. I therefore beg 
that, to make amends for your loss and vexation, you will 
accept a note for a hundred pounds. No excuses, sir, for I 
consider myself fortunate in saving the others at that 
I price/ ' 

The travelers were highly pleased with the lady's gener- 
osity, and complimented her on her presence of mind. 

— Anonymous. 

123.— A TALE OF TERROR 

While traveling through Calabria, in Sicily, my com- 
panion and I stopped for the night at the cottage of a 
peasant. 

When supper was over, we were shown to our room in a 
loft directly under the roof. This attic was reached by a 
ladder, and there we were to make our nest. We intro- 
duced ourselves into it by creeping under joists laden with 
provisions for the year. 

My companion soon fell asleep, but I, having determined 
to sit up, relit the lamp, and began to read a book, which I 
wished to finish before we left on the next day. 

Shortly before dawn, I heard our host and his wife talking 
and disputing in the room below us. Putting my ear to the 
chimney, which communicated with the one in the lower 
room, I perfectly distinguished these words spoken by the 
husband: "Well, let us see; must they both be killed?" 
To which I heard his wife reply, "Yes, both of them!" 

How shall I go on? I stood scarcely breathing; my body 
was as cold as marble. To call, or wake my companion, I 
dared not. To escape was impossible ; the window was not 
high, but on opening it, two dogs began to howl like wolves 
beneath it. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 225 

At the end of a long quarter of an hour, I heard some one 
mounting the ladder, and through a crack in the door, I 
saw a man, a lamp in one hand, and a long knife in the other. 
He came up, his wife after him. I hid in a corner. The 
host opened the door, but before he came in, he put down 
the lamp, which his wife at once took up. He then entered 
barefoot, and I heard the woman say in a low tone, while 
she shaded the light of the lamp with her hand: " Softly; 
go softly !" 

The man went straight to my companion's bed — the poor 
fellow was sleeping with his throat bare — and — shall I ever 
forget it? — the man seized a ham which hung from the 
ceiling, cut a slice from it, and retired as he had come. 

At breakfast two chickens were on the table, one of which, 
said our hostess, we were to eat then and there; the other 
we were to eat on our journey. When I saw the capons, I 
understood the meaning of those terrible words, "Must they 
both be killed?" 

— Paul Louis Courier, from a Letter to Madam Pigalle. 

124.— THE MISCHIEVOUS WIND 

Out upon the angry w T ind, now from sighing, it began to 
bluster round the merry forge, banging at the wicket, and 
grumbling in the chimney, as if it bullied the jolly bellows 
for doing anything to order. And what an impotent swag- 
gerer it was too, for all its noise; for if it had any influence 
on that hoarse companion, it was but to make him roar his 
cheerful song the louder, and by consequence to make the 
fire burn the brighter, and the. sparks to dance more gaily 
yet; at length, they whizzed so madly round and round, 
that it was too much for such a surly wind to bear; so off it 
flew with a howl, giving the old sign before the ale-house 
door such a cuff as it went, that the blue dragon was more 



226 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

rampant than usual ever afterward, and, indeed, before 
Christmas reared clean out of its crazy frame. 

It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go wreak- 
ing its vengeance on such poor creatures as the fallen leaves; 
but this wind, happening to come up with a great heap of 
them just after venting its humor on the insulted dragon, 
did so disperse and scatter them that they fled away, pell- 
mell, some here, some there, rolling over each other, whirling 
round and round upon their thin edges, taking frantic flights 
into the air, and playing all manner of extraordinary gam- 
bols in the extremity of their distress. Nor was this enough 
for its malicious fury, for not content with driving them 
abroad, it charged small parties of them and hunted them 
into the wheelwright's saw-pit, and below the planks and 
timbers in the yard, and scattering the sawdust in the air, 
it looked for them underneath, and when it did meet with 
any, whew! how it drove them on and followed at their 
heels! 

The scared leaves only flew the faster for all this, and a 
giddy chase it was; for they got into unfrequented places, 
where there was no outlet, and where their pursuer kept 
them eddying round and round at his pleasure; and they 
crept under the eaves of houses, and clung tightly to the 
sides of hay-ricks, like bats; and tore in at open chamber 
windows, and cowered close to hedges, and in short went 
anywhere for safety. But the oddest feat they achieved 
was to take advantage of the sudden opening of Mr. Peck- 
sniff's front door to dash wildly into his passage; whither 
the wind following close upon them, and finding the back 
door open, incontinently blew out the lighted candle held 
by Miss Pecksniff, and slammed the front door against Mr. 
Pecksniff, who was at that moment entering, with such vio- 
lence, that in the twinkling of an eye he lay on his back at 
the bottom of the steps. By this time weary of such trifling 



c(C) 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 227 

performances, the boisterous rover hurried away rejoicing, 
roaring over moor and meadow, hill and flat, until it got out 
to sea, where it met other winds similarly disposed, and 
made a night of it. 

— Charles Dickens, " Martin Chuzzlewit." 

125.— THE PICTURE OF A PHANTOMS FACE 

A stranger came recommended to a merchant's house at 
Lubeck. He was hospitably received; but, the house being 
full, he was lodged at night in an apartment handsomely 
furnished, but not often used. He happened to cast his eye 
on a picture which immediately arrested his attention. It 
was a single head; but there was something so uncommon, 
so frightful and unearthly in its expression, though by no 
means ugly, that he found himself irresistibly attracted to 
look at it. In fact, he could not tear himself from the 
fascination of this portrait, till his imagination was filled by 
it, and his rest broken. 

He returned to bed, dreamed, and awoke from time to 
time with the head glaring on him. In the morning his host 
saw by his looks that he had slept ill, and inquired the cause, 
which was told. The master of the house was much vexed, 
and said that the picture ought to have been removed, that 
it was an oversight, and that it was always taken away 
when the chamber was used. The picture, he said, was, 
indeed, terrible to every one, but it had come into the fam- 
ily in such a curious way, that he could not make up his 
mind to part with it. 

The story of it was this: — "My father," said the host, 
"whilst dining at a coffee-house in Hamburg, closely ob- 
served a young man of remarkable appearance, who every 
now and then turned his head quickly round as if he heard 
. something, then shuddered, grew pale, and went on with 



228 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



C(C) 



d(C) 



e(C) 



" his meal, after an effort, as before. My father addressed 
him, and found that the young man was a poor Italian, 
well-informed, and living economically upon the profits of 
his art as a painter. Their intimacy increased, and upon 
my father's solicitation, the painter told him the story of 
his life. 

"He was a native of Rome, and had lived on quite famil- 
iar terms with a young nobleman, who patronized him; 
but on some slight occasion they had fallen out, and his 
patron struck him. The painter could not challenge the 
nobleman, on account of his rank; he therefore watched 
for an opportunity, and assassinated him. Of course, he 
fled from Italy, and finally reached Hamburg. 

"He had not, however, passed many weeks since the 
night of the murder, before, one day in a crowded street, he 
heard his name called by a voice familiar to him; he turned 
round, and saw the face of his victim looking at him with 
fixed eye. From that moment he had no peace; at all 
hours, in all places, and amidst all companies, he heard the 
voice, and could not help looking round, always encounter- 
ing the same face staring close upon him. At last, in a 
mood of desperation, the artist fixed himself face to face 
and eye to eye with the specter, and deliberately drew the 
phantom visage as it glared upon him; and this was the 
picture so drawn. The painter gave the portrait to my 
father in return for favors shown him, and not long after, 
the young man, being conscience-smitten, returned to 
Rome, and surrendered himself to justice. " 

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge, " Table Talk." 



126.— A WARM JOKE 

a A man, who had more wit than money, and who lived at 
the expense of the credulous, was once riding in a stage- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 229 

coach, which was overturned at the bend of a road. Our 
wit had one of his legs broken so badly that it was necessary 
to amputate it. This mishap did not, however, greatly 
afflict him, as it furnished him with another resource for 
levying contributions on the public. 

First of all, he brought action against the proprietors of 
the coach, and obtained two hundred pounds damages for 
the loss of his limb. He bought a cork-leg, so well shaped 
that it was almost impossible to discover that it was arti- 
ficial; but the fellow was not very economical, and so the 
rest of his money was soon spent, and he resorted to trickery 
to obtain a livelihood. 

Having provided himself with some powder of rotten 
wood, he went one Saturday night to a country public- 
house, and started a conversation about the wonders that 
are to be seen in London. Among other astonishing things, 
one of the farmers declared that he had seen a man wash 
his hands in molten lead. They laughed at him, and told 
him that they were not fools enough to believe impossibili- 
ties; but our hero replied: 

" Gentlemen, it is so far from being impossible, that I 
assure you I have seen it myself, and fortunately I have 
. about me the means of convincing you." 
d(C) f He then took from his pocket a tin box, and opening it, 
said: 

"Here is a powder that I have compounded. Rub any 
part of the body with it, and it may be plunged into boiling 
. liquid or melted metal; will any of you try it?" 

They guffawed at him, and told him to try it on himself. 

"Very well, gentlemen, since you are so incredulous, I 
will try it on myself. I will make the experiment with 
, boiling water." 
f r A pail of steaming water was brought, and taking the 
1 powder he began rubbing his leg, saying: 



f { 



230 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

"You see, sirs, it is not necessary even to take off my 
stocking.' ' 

Then plunging his leg into the pail, he stood for some 
minutes, smoking his pipe with the greatest tranquillity, the 
peasants glaring at him with eyes and mouths wide open. 

They were all extremely desirous to obtain some of the 
powder, but he told them he did not sell it. He yielded to 
entreaty, however, and the powder was eagerly purchased, 
and the countrymen hastened home to astonish their wives, 
families, and neighbors, The next day being Sunday, they 
met, and invited their friends to see the experiments. 

A large tub was procured, and filled with boiling water. 
One of the spectators, who was noted for his boldness and 
vanity, rubbed both his legs with the powder, and jumped 
nimbly into the tub. 

There was a terrible shriek! The victim leaped out of 
the tub, and danced with pain around the room. The 
farmers were convulsed with laughter, and as no other 
could be found to repeat the experiment, they retired, leav- 
ing the scalded yokel to the care of his wife» 

— Anonymous. 

127.— THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPERS' FEAST 

There was formerly at London, on the first of May of 
every year, a superb feast given to the chimney-sweepers 
of the metropolis, at Montague House, Cavendish Square, 
the town-residence of the Montague family. The custom 
is said to have taken its origin from the following circum- 
stances: 

Lady Montague, being at her country-seat, as usual in 
the summer, used to send her little boy, Edward, a-walking 
every day with a footman, who had strict orders never to 
lose sight of the lad. One day, however, the servant, meet- 
ing an old acquaintance, went into an ale-house to drink, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 231 

and left the little boy running about by himself. After 
staying some time drinking, the footman came out to look 
for the child to take him home to dinner, but he could not 
find him. He wandered about till night, inquiring at every 
cottage and every house, but in vain; no Edward could be 
found. The poor mother was in the greatest anxiety about 
the absence of her son, and her grief was indescribable 
when the footman returned, and told her of the loss of her 
child. People were sent in all directions to seek him; 
advertisements were put in all the newspapers; bills were 
stuck up in London, and in most of the great towns of 
England, offering a goodly reward to any person who would 
find the boy, or give any news of him. 

But for two years Lady Montague remained ignorant of 
the fate of her son. At length one of her sisters married, 
and, after many refusals, Lady Montague consented to give 
a ball and supper on the occasion at her town-house. She 
went to London to superintend the preparations, and while 
the supper was cooking, a cry of fire alarmed the whole 
house. One of the cooks had overturned a saucepan, and 
set fire to the chimney. The sweeps were sent for, and a 
little boy was sent up; but the smoke nearly suffocated 
him, and he fell into the fireplace. Lady Montague called 
for some vinegar and a smelling-bottle; she began to bathe 
the little fellow's temples and his neck, when suddenly she 
screamed, "Oh, Edward!" and fell senseless on the floor. 
She soon recovered, and taking the little sweep in her arms, 
pressed him to her bosom, crying, "It is my Edward! It is 
my lost darling!" 

She had recognized him by a mark on his neck. The 
master chimney-sweeper, on being asked where he had ob- 
tained the child, said he had bought him about a year 
before from a gypsy woman, who said he was her son. All 
the lad could remember was that some strangers had given 



232 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

him fruit, and told him that they would take him home to 
his mamma; but that they took him a long way upon a 
donkey, and after cruelly maltreating him, sold him to the 
master chimney-sweeper, who had always acted like the 
kindest of fathers to him. 

Lady Montague rewarded the man handsomely, and from 
that time she gave a feast to all the chimney-sweepers of the 
metropolis on the first day of May, the birthday of little 
Edward, who always presided at the banquet, where the 
sweeps did full justice to good old English fare — roast beef, 
plum-pudding, and strong beer. 

This all happened years and years ago. Lady Montague 
and Edward are in their graves; but the First of May is still 
celebrated as the chimney-sweepers ' holiday. 

— Anonymous. 

128.— A DUEL BY FRENCHMEN 

Not long ago we had one of those heroic spectacles — a 
duel. It was very exciting. 

The men had stripped to their suspenders, and had taken 
their swords in hand. Complications arose. One of the 
opponents was in doubt as to the other's identity, and 
thought, not without reason, that a proxy was before him. 
The seconds argued somewhat hotly; the antagonists, being 
more favorable to peace, separated the seconds. The 
affair was to be concluded at another meeting! 

At the following meeting the trouble began again. 
Postponement! The public is palpitating, the fire is re- 
kindled, the interest increases. Nothing is accomplished; 
the public talks of nothing else but the duel; to-morrow 
in the field! They strip to their suspenders; they even 
remove these supports; they take swords, cross them; the 
steel sends forth sparks. One, two! They lunge; they 
ward off. The fencer thrusts, the thruster fences. One, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 233 

two! Thrusts here, thrusts there, thrusts everywhere! 
Flic, flic! More thrusts! What lunges! what fire in the 
steel! what in their hearts! The sweat pours down, and is 
not wiped away! At last one of these cruel swords touches 
one of those cruel men; and the blood starts — Stop, rash 
fellows! Honor is satisfied! 

The wounded man lost a few hairs of his left eyebrow. 
— Louis Veuillot, " Les Odeurs de Paris." 



129.— JOHN RIDD ON THE STRAWBERRY MARE, WINNIE 

My sister and I were watching the water rushing down 
the brook, when a man on horseback came suddenly round 
the corner of the great hedge. It was Tom Faggus and his 
young mare, Winnie. 

" Will you let me have a ride on her?" I asked Faggus. 

"She will have no burden but mine, John," he answered. 
"I would be loath to kill you!" 

"Ride her!" I cried with the bravest scorn. "Try me. 
Only I never ride upon saddle. Take it off, if you 
please!" 

"Good luck to you, then," remarked Faggus by way of 
consent. "There can be small harm to you. I am akin 
.to your family, and know the substance of their skulls." 

He then spoke very softly to the filly, who now could 
scarce subdue herself; but she drew in her nostrils, and did 
all she could to answer him. 

"Not too hard, my dear!" said he; "let him down gen- 
.tly on the soft turf. That will be quite enough!" 

Then he took the saddle off, and I was up in a moment. 

The mare began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so 

lovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a 

burden upon her, that I thought she knew I could ride a 

. little, and feared to show any capers. 



234 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

d f "Gee wug, Polly !" I cried, for by this time the workmen 
■j were looking on. 
v- "Gee wug, Polly, and show what you are made of!" 

e With that I plugged my heels into her, and her master 
at that instant gave a shrill, clear whistle. Then her ears 
were bent towards him, and I felt her form beneath me 
gathering up like a whale-bone, and her hind legs coming 
under her, and I knew that I was in for it. 

f First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on 
the nose with her comb, and then down went her fore-feet 
with her hind feet going to heaven. Finding me sticking 
to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers was, 
away she flew with me faster than ever I went before, 
or since. 
g C) f "0, Jack, slip off!" screamed my sister, Annie. 

■< "Hang me, if I do!" I cried; "if you kill me, you shall 
I die with me!" 

h Then she took the gate at a leap, knocking my words be- 
tween my teeth, and away she sped for the water-meadows, 
while I lay on her neck like a child at the breast, and wished 
I had never been born. I felt the earth under us rushing 
away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath came 
and went, and I prayed to God. 

i Then in her fury at feeling me still on her, she leaped a 
wide water-trough sideways across, to and fro, till no breath 
was left in me, and I longed to give it up, thoroughly 
beaten, and lie there and die. 

j But at that moment came a shrill whistle from up the 
home hill, where the people had hurried to watch us; and 
the mare stopped as if with a bullet; then set off for home 
with the speed of a swallow. I never had dreamed of such 
delicate motion, fluent and graceful, soft as the breeze flit- 
ting over the flowers, but swift as the summer lightning. I 
sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 235 

left to recover it, and when she reached the gate, I fell off 
limp into a heap of mud. 

— Richard D. Blackmore, " Lorna Doone." 

130.— FINDING GOLD IN CALIFORNIA 

Some time after the Mexican War, in which the United 
States took California away from Mexico, something hap- 
pened which caused great excitement all over the country. 

A man named Sutter had moved from Missouri to Cali- 
fornia, and had settled at what he styled Sutter's Fort, a 
site where the city of Sacramento now stands. 

The settler found the far Western way of doing a thing 
entirely too slow. When he wanted boards, it took two 
men a whole day to saw up a log, so as to make a dozen 
planks, and when he wished to grind flour for meal, he had 
to do it by running a large stone roller over a large slab. 

Sutter resolved to build a saw-mill, and sent a man 
named Marshall to construct it near a forest forty miles 
distant from Sutter's Fort. With the help of a few men 
Marshall finished the mill in a few months, but when he 
started the mill-wheel, it did not run well. He saw that 
he must dig a ditch below the great water-wheel, and ac- 
cordingly hired several Indians to do the work. 

One January morning Marshall went out to inspect the 
ditch. The clear water was coursing through it, and had 
washed away the sand, leaving the pebbles bare. At the 
bottom of the ditch Marshall saw something yellow. It 
looked like brass. He put his hand into the water, and 
drew out one of the numerous bright yellow objects, about 
the size and shape of a pea. It was pure gold. In a few 
days the workmen had dug up almost three ounces of the 
precious metal, and Marshall, certain that he had discov- 
ered a gold bed, set out for Sutter's Fort. There Sutter 



236 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

obtained a pair of scales, and a book telling about the 
weight of various metals. On weighing the gold they 
found it to be pure. 

At the mill the workmen promised to keep the secret, 
but a teamster, who went to a store to buy whisky, 
having no money wherewith to pay for it, took from his 
pocket some grains of gold. The storekeeper was amazed, 
and succeeded in skillfully worming the secret out of the 
teamster. 

The news spread like fire in dry grass. Men flocked to 
the mill near the mountain. Merchants in the towns of 
California abandoned their stores. Mechanics laid down 
their tools, and farmers left their fields, to dig gold. The 
metal was found in many places in the country, and this 
fact increased the thirst for the hunt. The news spread to 
Europe, and during the first year after the discovery more 
than one hundred thousand gold-seekers made their way to 
California, and within a few months millions and millions 
of dollars' worth of gold was dug. 

— "Stories of American Life and Adventure," by Edward Eggle- 
ston. Copyright, 1895, by American Book Company. 

131.— HOW THE CENTURY PLANT GOT ITS NAME 
About two centuries ago a Russian nobleman traveling 
in Mexico saw and admired the maguey plant which is a 
native of that country. He was eager to have specimens 
of the plant to grow in his own country. So, when leaving 
Mexico, he procured some roots to take home as a present 
to the Czar. 

On his first visit to court, after he reached the capital 
city, he told of the wonderful plant, and asked permission 
of the Czar to present to him the specimens which he had. 
The Czar accepted the present, and gave the roots to the 
court gardener, who promised to give the plants his best 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 237 

attention, but, unfortunately, before he could plant them 
properly, as he intended, he was taken sick, and died with- 
out accomplishing the Czar's command. 

c Another gardener was appointed. In the meantime, the 
roots lay in the sack in which they were first placed. The 
new gardener not knowing their value threw the sack away, 
and it lay unheeded in a corner of the garden day after day. 
Sometime afterward the gardener's little daughter picked 
one of the roots out of the bag, and in a playful mood, 
planted it, but paid no further attention to it. The Czar 
had forgotten all about it. 

d In the course of time he died; also this second gardener. 

e The plant in after years put out a few spikes for leaves, 
but did not thrive in the cold air of Russia. It grew very 
slowly, and its origin was not known to anyone save to the 
girl who planted it and to her mother. 

f Years passed and still the strange plant with its thick, 
long, straight leaves, now nearing six feet tall, did not 
bloom, but as it grew taller, it attracted notice, and the 
new Czar looked at it sometimes, and wondered if it would 
ever bloom. But after some time he, too, died, and still the 
maguey bloomed not. 

g But just after the coronation of another Czar, a stalk shot 
up from the root of the plant, and rapidly grew to the height 
of twenty feet. Soon many clusters of small buds appeared, 
which slowly unfolded and became white blossoms. The 
wonderful plant had bloomed at last! 

h The gardener said it was a hundred years old, and had 
bloomed in honor of the new Czar. Word was sent to him, 
and he and his whole Court visited and admired the flowers 
and the plant. 

i The poor exile from the sunny skies of Mexico had earned 
a new name, for, ever since that day, it has been known as 
the century plant. —Anonymous. 



238 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

132.— FEARSOME SIGHTS IN A STORM 

While the October hurricane was raging off the Jersey 
coast, the hardy skippers of many craft saw sights that 
confirmed their faith in the most startling traditions of the 
sea, and shook their nerve far more than the fury of the 
storm. Captain Ben Sammis, of the schooner Bartley 
Hope, fought his way to port with a tale of having seen a 
creature like a huge serpent, on whose back was riding a 
being having the head and body of a woman of exceeding 
loveliness. Below the waist she was fashioned like a fish 
with scales and fins. Her hair was long and of golden hue, 
and she combed it with one hand, while she held a looking- 
glass in the other. 

This strange sea tale was scoffed at until Captain Ade 
Scidmore, commanding a schooner of the Fulton Market 
fishing fleet, reported having seen two sea-serpents near the 
Sandy Hook light-ship. The first one he met with reared 
itself out of the water, and he was satisfied that it was a 
plesiosaurus. The second creature, which he and the crew 
watched for a quarter of an hour, had the body of an alliga- 
tor, a long neck, and six paddles. Shortly after two other 
sea-captains rounded up in New York Harbor, and declared 
that they had seen mermaids, beautiful and graceful, and 
monsters, hideous and threatening, along the Jersey coast. 
Other witnesses vouched for these marvels, as they had 
caught glimpses of them from the storm-swept beaches. 

The imagination of Captain Hank Henderson ran away 
with him, and he over-topped all other stories by reporting 
that he had seen a marine monster three hundred feet long, 
which rose like a mast, and snapped at the men on his 
deck. 

Excitement in shipping circles was at white heat. There 
could have been no collusion among these affrighted sea- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 239 

dogs. Sailors were deserting in flocks, and swore they 
would never go to sea again, if, to the other dangers of the 
deep, there was to be added a plague of mermaids and sea- 
serpents. Amateur scientists and daring hunters of big 
game were burning with impatience to pursue these wonder- 
ful creatures. 

Among the interested listeners to these chronicles was a 
youth from Rockaway Beach, and he posted off with im- 
portant information, which resulted in the following bulle- 
tin, as sent to the ship news office at the Battery: 

" Herman Kenselman, whose merry-go-round was washed 
out to sea in the storm of Saturday, has engaged seven men 
to recover some of the wooden figures of fishes, dragons, and 
other animals which broke away from the wrecked car- 
ousel. He has found no trace of two of the most valuable 
figures, which were life-sized mermaids, carved by hand, at 
a cost of three hundred dollars each. He hopes to recover 
some of the larger wooden serpents and mermaids, for the 
reason that iron plates were attached to them, which would 
act as keels and prevent them from splitting, at the same 
.time keeping them floating upright." 

— Anonymous. 

133.— THE "EASY MARK" 

The Meadowthorpe was one of those country clubs whose 
members do not know that there is any part of the world 
west of the Hudson River. When Johnnie Keating came 
out of the West— from some place he called Michigan — 
they looked on him as one of a far inferior species. 

When they talked of the Meadowthorpe handicap, and he 
talked of entering it, they were inclined to laugh at him, but 
when they found that he was liberally supplied with money, 
they thought it a good chance to get rid of some of their 
condemned horse-flesh. Johnnie looked over several of the 



240 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

specimens offered, hemmed and hawed, and finally decided 
to send back to Michigan for an old horse of his out there. 
The Meadowthorpers laughed in their sleeves, and pleasantly 
made bets with him, giving such encouraging odds as 
twenty and thirty to one. Even at those odds the Meadow- 
thorpers felt sure of some of Johnnie's money, and they 
dubbed him the "Easy Mark." 

When the day of the race came, six horses answered the 
call of the bugle. There were Major Bastlay's Boadicea — 
ridden by Ralph Gering; Dick Middleton's chestnut gelding, 
Bricktop; Tom Halliday's bay mare, Fleetwing; Dr. Wil- 
cox's chestnut mare, Firefly; Martin Follingsby's gray 
horse, Graystone; Johnny Keating's bay gelding, Bar- 
rister. The last five horses had their owners up. Barrister 
carried the least weight, and was set down on the pro- 
gramme "breeding unknown." 

There was some hitch in getting the horses started, but 
when the flag fell, it was observed that Johnny Keating got 
off very well indeed. 

The horses came along by the edge of the polo field, past 
the spectators, then out into the road. Bricktop, fighting 
for his head, was making the pace. He took the rail fence 
into the road with three or four feet to spare, and rushed the 
stone wall into the next field. Boadicea, the favorite, came 
next, going strongly and well within herself, ridden superbly 
by Ralph Gering. At the gray mare's quarter was Johnny 
Keating with Barrister. The horse was galloping easily, 
and the "Easy Mark" rode him with hands well down and 
a strong pull. Not far behind the three leaders, came Fleet- 
wing, Graystone and Firefly. 

When the horses came in view around Higgin's barn, 

Bricktop had bolted out of the course, and Boadicea was in 

the lead, Barrister hanging persistently at her quarter. 

. They did not change their positions as they crossed the hill 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



241 



J 



'behind Higgin's barn, negotiating the intervening fences. 
Some of the Meadowthorpers were beginning to think that 
the "Easy Mark" rode well, and that Barrister went pretty 
well but they said: 

"Wait till he strikes the river." 

There was not long to wait. Down the hill the horses 
came with a rush. Boadicea took off with careful precision, 
and jumped the brook like a cat. To the surprise of every- 
one, Barrister flew it like a bird. Firefly landed in the 
middle of it, Fleetwing refused it absolutely, and Gray- 
stone took it handsomely, leaving three horses in the 
race. 

When they came from behind an intervening grove, the 
order was Boadicea first, Graystone second, Barrister — 
third. When Gering looked back, and saw Graystone com- 
ing strong, he loosened the pull, shook out the reins, and 
game old Boadicea shot out like an arrow. Keating was a 
dozen lengths behind, but he saw Gering's move. He did 
not mind Graystone, but settled his eyes on Boadicea. 
They were half a mile from the finish. He passed Gray- 
stone, and crept up to Boadicea's flank. The old mare 
moved like a splendid machine, but Barrister had more in 
reserve. Inch by inch Barrister gained until the horses 
were neck and neck. 

"What a finish," cried the spectators. 

Ten yards from the post the horses seemed to be gallop- 
ing as one. The crowd held its breath. Then Keating 
caught the bay by the head, and seemed fairly to lift him 
forward, and he won by half a neck. 

"I thought he'd do it," said the young man, who had in- 
troduced Keating at the Meadowthorpe Club. 

"Why," asked a man who had picked Keating as an 
" Easy Mark," and given him odds of twenty to one. 

"Why," answered the other, "because I saw Keating ride 



242 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

3 [ in England last year, and he brought in his horse second in 
the Grand-National/ ' 

"Oh!" and the Meadowthorper suppressed a deep-drawn 
sigh. 

— Adapted from " The Easy Mark/' by Alfred Stoddart. Copy- 
right, 1903, by The Frank A. Munsey Company. 

134.— THE TRIBUTE OF "DE GANG" 

The lodger in the third floor back was dead — had been 
found so by the chambermaid as she went singing about her 
work. Details of the incident furnished five minutes' 
diversion at the breakfast table, and though meager, were 
ample enough to satisfy the most curious of those into 
whose midst the grim messenger had come. It was suffi- 
cient to know that the lodger was dead. 

The landlady was out of sorts because she had rented him 
the third story back at three dollars a week, and had failed 
to obtain payment in advance. But six dollars in small 
change were taken from the pockets of the dead man when 
the coroner came, so she had only to wait for the usual legal 
formalities to get her money. The coroner also found 
among the man's effects a soiled and crumpled card. It 
bore the inscription, " Andrew L. Billings — Daily Eagle. " 

" Newspaper man/' remarked the official sententiously. 
" 111 let the ' Eagle ' know about it." 

Yes, the "Eagle" people recollected Billings. He had not 
been on the paper for several years. No relatives that they 
knew of. Got too old for the business. Good man in his 
day, but his day was long past. Queer sort of duck, any- 
how. Did not mix much with the fellows on the staff. Spent 
all his spare time looking up poor families, and getting help 
for them. Wrote hard-luck stories about them in the winter 
time, and ran the "Eagle's" contribution column. Had an 



f 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 243 

especial hobby for newsboys. Would buy their papers when 
they were "stuck," and was always caught by their song and 
dance of a mother and a couple of kids, cold and hungry 
at home. 

The "Eagle" bought a site in the cemetery for Billings, 
and hired an undertaker to put him away with twenty-five 
dollars' worth of decency. It took about four columns of 
editorial argument to extract this amount of generosity 
from the business manager. 

The funeral was from the boarding hou e, and half a 
dozen reporters who had worked with Billings walked 
through the blizzard-like weather, and stood in the cheer- 
less parlor to witness the last sad rites. The boarders be- 
trayed no interest in the proceedings. The undertaker's 
black wagon stood before the door, the horses cowering in 
the face of the wind and sleet. The minister, from the little 
church in the square below, who was to officiate, had not 
known the deceased in life, and knew none of his virtues or 
his failings, but he took his stand at the head of the cheap 
coffin, and after reading the burial service, closed the book, 
and cleared his throat preparatory to beginning the sermon. 

As he was about to begin the front door opened, and 
an unkempt little figure, whose scant and ragged clothing 
ill-matched the blustery weather outside, stole noiselessly 
into the room. 

"It's Nick," one of the reporters whispered. "He's 
.the toughest newsboy on the block." 

The boy glanced swiftly at the face in the coffin, and then 
his little rough hand, purple from the cold, laid a tiny bunch 
of carnations upon the lid. Then he tiptoed to the door, 
and closed it softly after him. 

The bit of white cord which bound the stems of the 
flowers together also held in place a little white card. The 
minister bent down, and scanned the solitary tribute. On 



244 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

the card there were these six words in an almost unintelli- 
gible scrawl: "He was good to de gang." 
i f The minister reached for his hat. 
\ "We will dispense with the sermon," he said. "It has 
L already been preached." 

—"The Tribute of <De Gang, ' " by Edward F. Coyle. Copy- 
right, 1898, by Frank A. Munsey. 

135.— THE ADVENTURE OF TILLERMAN McDERMOTT 

a On St. Patrick's day, 18 — , there was a 3-3 alarm, and in 
a few seconds more than four minutes Martin had brought 
truck 21 to a standstill in front of the big hotel. Above it 
smoke was already rising in huge slow-moving clouds. It 
was even creeping from the tops of the upper windows, with 
here and there red streakings of fire. The men sprang to the 
windlass of the extension ladder. 

Just then Beggin, the captain, saw a woman sitting peril- 
ously on the ledge of a sixth-story window, eighty sheer feet 
above the stone flagging of the sidewalk. She was waving 
her hands and screaming, although the noise of the fire 
drowned out the sounds of her voice. There was fire above 
her and smoke below, and the windows were giving out a 
peculiar ominous orange glow that told the grave story of 
the destruction within. Before the extension ladder could 
be raised and set, the smoke might overcome her, and she 
would fall from her dizzy seat. Beggin motioned to McDer- 
mott. Without waiting to put on his scaling-belt, McDer- 
mott wrenched a scaling ladder from the truck; he drove 
the long steel hook through the glass of the second-story 
window. Then he ran up like a cat, crooked one leg over 
the sill, braced himself, drew up the ladder hand over hand 
from beneath him, and plunged the hook through the third- 
story window, and thus, like a great measuring worm, the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 245 

man and the ladder crept up the sheer brick wall. At the 
fifth floor the heavy glass of the window fell in fragments in 
McDermott's face, cutting him deep over the eye. He drew 
his sleeve across his face to wipe away the blood, and hooked 
the ladder over the sill of the window where the woman sat. 
Instantly she turned as if to come down or else to jump. 

"Keep quiet !" shouted McDermott. "Ill take care of 
I you." 

Mounting now until he could look in at the sixth-story 
window, he saw the inner walls all afire and the entire in- 
terior a raging furnace. 

The woman was pale and scarcely conscious. At a word 
from McDermott, she turned on the sill with both feet out 
of the window, and leaned a little outward. The crowd 
below held its breath. McDermott went a few steps down 
the ladder, grasping the sill with his right hand; the woman 
slid out on his left shoulder. She was heavy, nearly one 
hundred and seventy pounds. The ladder, unanchored at 
the bottom, sw T ayed under the weight of the two like a 
cotton string. For a moment McDermott paused before 
he let go the sill. Then of a sudden, from within the 
building, there was a terrific roar of falling walls, and smoke 
and fire gushed out from the windows above them. McDer- 
mott let go, and stepped down one round. His foot held a 
moment, and then the round gave way with a snap broken 
off short. Instantly the ladder swung out to one side, and 
McDermott hung there in mid-air by one hand, six stories 
up, with a fainting woman on his shoulders. He felt the 
tendons of his arm stretching — snapping, but he did not 
lose his presence of mind. Grappling with his legs, he suc- 
ceeded in getting another foothold. A few rounds more 
and he had reached the bottom of the ladder, and then he 
hung waiting. Blood from his wound was trickling into his 
eyes, his arms were numb; he was choking with smoke. 



246 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

" Above him white streams of water from the engines curved 
like bows, and broke in spray as they cut into the curling 
smoke. Below he could see dense masses of men in the 
streets and the extension coming up from the ground, oh! so 
slowly! Inch by inch it was pushed higher and higher — 
and on the very top round, his legs drawn up under him, sat 
McGuire. But would it ever get to his height, would it ever 
bend over towards him! — At last! It began to move 
towards him. Nearer — nearer — McGuire touched him. 

"Hold on, old man!" he said. 

It was a moment of awful uncertainty — a fainting 
woman on his shoulder, his right hand paralyzed with numb- 
ness — two frail ladders, one loose at the top, one at the 
bottom. A mis-step, a parting of the ladders, and McDer- 
mott and his burden as well as McGuire would be dashed 
to death on the stone pavement seventy feet below. 

But McGuire and McDermott were trained too well to fall 
when they had done so much. They reached the ground 
with their burden just one minute before the wall fell — and 
to-day you can tell McDermott by a scar over the eye 
and an ugly swelling on his wrist where the tendons 
"drew." 

— "The Adventure of Tillerman McDermott," by Ray Stannard 
Baker. Copyright, 1899, by S. S. McClure Company. 

136.— "FRECKLES" McGRAW 

In the official register his name had gone down as William 
McGraw, but everywhere else he was "Freckles" — elevator 
boy in the State-House. 

A reform legislature was sitting, and the most important 
measure introduced into it was the Kelley Bill. From all 
Freckles could learn the Kelley Bill was a great reform 
measure destined to show the railroads that they did not 






f(C) 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 247 

own the state, and Freckles, who was a reformer, deter- 
mined that he wanted the Kelley Bill to pass. 

A little before noon one day near the end of the session, a 
member of the Senate and a member of the House rode 
down together in the elevator. 

" There is no use waiting any longer/' the Senator said. 

"It's a matter of Stacy's vote. He's all right now, but 

there is every chance that Ludlow will see him before he 

casts his vote this afternoon, and then — the Kelley Bill is 

L killed." 

Ludlow was a lobbyist in the employ of the railroads. 
Freckles knew him, and he heard the Senator's words. 
That afternoon Senator Stacy, the doubtful Senator, went 
up to the Senate chamber rather early. Half an hour later 
Ludlow, the lobbyist, stepped into the car. There was a 
look of triumph in his face. Freckles noticed it. He had 
not made up his plan of campaign, but he knew a battle was 
on. 

Halfway between the basement and the first floor, he 
stopped the elevator. He needed time to think. If he 
took Ludlow to the Senate chamber, the Kelley Bill was 
dead. He knelt, and pretended to be fixing something. 

"Something broke?" asked Ludlow. 

"Yes, it's acting queer. Something's all out of whack." 

"Drop it to the basement, and let me out." — Ludlow 
was evidently nervous. 

"Can't," answered Freckles. "She's stuck." 

"Better call some one to come and take us out" — more 
anxiously still from Ludlow. 

Freckles looked at him with a glitter in his small gray 
eyes and two small red spots burning in his freckled cheeks. 

"I think she'll run now," he said. 

And she did run. Never in all its history had that State- 
House elevator run as it ran then. It rushed past first, 



248 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

second, third floors like a thing let loose, with an utter 
abandonment that caused the blood to flee from the lobby- 
ist's face. 
i(C) f "Stop it, boy!" he cried in alarm. 

"Can't/' responded Freckles, his voice thick with terror. 
"Running away," he gasped. 

"Will it fall!" whispered the eminent lobbyist in a shak- 
ing voice. 

"I — I think so," blubbered Freckles. 

Now the elevator shaft was really the tower of the State- 
House and up — up the elevator still flew — up — up — up — 
till it was within ten feet of the roof of the tower, and then it 
came to a rickety stop. There it hung, wabbled back and 
forth, and did strange and terrible things. 

"She's falling!" panted Freckles. "Climb." 

And Ludlow, the eminent lobbyist for half-a-dozen rail- 
roads, climbed. He managed to open the door of the cage, 
and clambered up. No sooner had Ludlow's feet touched 
the floor above than Freckles slammed the door of the cage, 
I f nd pulled the lever and the car began to descend. 
1 Ludlow was far from dull. He saw the smooth even 
descent of the car, and he knew he had been tricked. There 
he was hundreds of feet above the Senate Chamber, gulled 
and beaten. He tried the door at the head of the winding 
stairway. It was locked. It always was. Perhaps he 
could get outside on the parapet, and raise a flag of distress! 
The door leading outside was locked also. There he was 
alone and helpless and — tricked. And below — well, below 
they were passing the Kelley Bill. And below the elevator 
was making regular trips, but it did not come up into the 
tower. 
m Freckles was relieved by the night boy. Freckles re- 
marked that the elevator needed a little oil, and that the 
can was in the tower. The boy ran the elevator up to get 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 249 

the can, but did not find it. When he came upon Mr. Lud- 
low, he was glad the can had not been left in the tower. 
When the lobbyist began to speak, the atmosphere was so 
warm that no oil could have stood it. But before Mr. Lud- 
low had arrived at the basement door, he had determined 
to say nothing of his experience. The joke was on him. 
The reformer from the elevator had beaten the lobbyist of 
the railroads. 

— Adapted from " Freckles McGraw," by Susan Keating Glaspell. 
Copyright, 1904, by The Frank A. Munsey Company. 

137.— THE GREEK STORY OF DELPHI 

A very long time ago, Apollo was born in distant Delos. 
When the glad news of his birth was told, Earth smiled and 
decked herself with flowers; the nymphs of Delos sang songs 
of joy that were heard to the utmost bounds of Hellas; and 
choirs of white swans flew seven times around the island, 
piping notes of praise to the radiant being who had come to 
dwell among men. Then Zeus looked down from high 
Olympus, and crowned the babe with a golden headband, 
and put into his hands a silver bow and a sweet-toned lyre 
such as no man had ever seen, and he gave him a team of 
white swans to drive, and bade him go forth to teach men 
the things which are right and good, and to make light that 
which is hidden and in darkness. 

So Apollo arose, beautiful as the morning sun, and 
journeyed through many lands, seeking a dwelling-place. 
He stopped for a time at the foot of Mount Olympus, and 
played so sweetly on his lyre that Zeus and all his court 
were entranced. Then he went into Pieria and Iolcos, and 
he wandered up and down through the whole length of the 
Thessalian land; but nowhere could he find a spot in which 
he was willing to dwell. He took up his abode among the 



250 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Hyperboreans, and lived among that happy people one 
whole year, delighting them with his presence, and ruling 
over them as their king. But, when twelve moons had 
passed, he bethought him that the toiling, suffering men of 
Hellas needed his care most. Therefore he bade the Hyper- 
boreans farewell, and again went up into his sun-bright car, 
and his winged team carried him back to the land of his 
birth. 
c For a long time Apollo sought a place where he might 
build a temple to which men might come to learn of him and 
to seek his help in time of need. At length he came to the 
plain of fair Tilphussa, by the shore of Lake Copais; and 
there he began to build a house, for the land was a pleasant 
one, well-watered and rich in grain and fruit. But the 
nymph liked not to have Apollo dwell so near her, lest men 
seeing and loving him should forget to honor her; and one 
day, garmented with mosses and crowned with lilies, she 
came and stood before him in the sunlight. 

d(C) " Apollo of the silver bow," said she, "have you not made 
a mistake in choosing this place for a dwelling? These rich 
plains around will not always be as pleasant and peaceful as 
now. Their very richness will tempt the spoiler, and the 
song of the cicada will then give place to the din of the 
battle. Even in times of peace you would hardly have a 
quiet hour here, for great herds of cattle come crowding 
down every day to my lake for water, and the noisy plow- 
man, driving his team afield, disturbs the morning hour with 
his boorish shouts, and boys and dogs keep up a constant 
din and make life in this place a burden." 

e(C) "Fair Tilphussa," said Apollo, "I had hoped to dwell 
here in thy happy vale a neighbor and a friend to thee. Yet, 
since this place is not what it seems to be, whither shall I go 
and where shall I build my house?" 

f (C) " Go to the cleft in Parnassus, where the swift eagles of 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 251 

Zeus met above the earth's center/ ' said the nymph. 
"There thou canst dwell in peace, and men will come from 
all parts of the world to do thee honor/ ' 

So Apollo, bringing with him the master-architects of the 
world, Trophonius and Agamedes, laid the foundations, and 
built the high walls and massive roof of his shrine. 

—From "A Story of the Golden Age." Copyright, 1887, 1888, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



138.— A GODDESS BRIDE 

One morning as Peleus, King of the Myrmidons, sat gaz- 
ing at the purple sea, he saw the sea nymph Thetis come up 
out of the waves, and walk upon the shore beneath him. 
Fairer than a dream was she, more beautiful than any pic- 
ture of nymph or goddess. She was clad in a robe of sea- 
green silk, woven by the Naiads in their watery grottos, 
and there was a chaplet of pearls upon her head, and sandals 
of sparkling silver upon her feet. 

As he gazed upon this lovely creature, Peleus heard a 
voice whispering in his ear. It was the voice of Pallas 
Athene. 

"Behold," she said, "the silver-footed Thetis, most beau- 
tiful of the nymphs of the sea, whom even the immortals 
have wooed in vain! She has been sent to this shore to be 
,won and wedded by thee." 

Peleus looked up to see the speaker of these words, but he 
beheld only a blue cloud resting above the mountain-top; 
he turned his eyes downward again, and to his grief, the 
silver-footed Thetis had vanished in the waves. All day he 
sat, and waited for her return, but she came not. When 
darkness came, he sought the old centaur, Chiron, and told 
him what he had seen and heard. The centaur taught him 
how to win his bride. 



252 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

When the sun again gilded the crags of Pelion, brave 
Peleus hid himself among the rocks close by the sea-washed 
shore, and waited for the coming of the silver-footed lady 
of the sea. In a little while she arose, beautiful as the star 
of morning, from the waves. She sat down upon the beach, 
and dallied with her golden tresses, and sang sweet songs of 
a happy land in the depths of the sounding sea. Peleus, 
bearing in mind what the centaur had taught him, caught 
the beauteous creature in his arms. In vain did she strug- 
gle to leap into the waves. Seven times she changed her 
form. She turned into a fountain of water, into a cloud of 
mist, into a burning flame, and into a senseless rock. But 
Peleus held her fast; and she changed then into a tawny 
lioness, and then into a tall tree, and lastly she took her own 
matchless form again. 

Peleus held the lovely Thetis by the hand, and while the 
birds sang among the leafy trees of Pelion's slopes and the 
dolphins sported in the sparkling waters at their feet, he 
wooed the silver-footed lady, and won her love, and she 
promised to be his bride. The immortals were glad, and 
they fitted up the great cavern on Mount Pelion for a ban- 
quet hall, and made therein a wedding feast, such as was 
never seen before. The vaulted roof of the cavern was 
decked with gems which shone like the stars of heaven; 
a thousand torches, held by mountain nymphs, flamed from 
niches in the walls; and upon the floors of polished marble, 
tables for ten thousand guests were ranged. 

When the feast was ready, all those who dwelt in high 
Olympus and all the immortals who lived on earth came to 
rejoice with King Peleus and his bride. The wedding gifts 
they brought were the costliest mortal men had ever re- 
ceived. The viands were such as the gods themselves were 
accustomed to on high Olympus. The Nereides danced in 
honor of their sister, and the Muses sang their sweetest 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 253 

songs, and Apollo played upon the lyre. For the gods were 
anxious to make the wedding of Peleus and Thetis the most 
magnificent the earth had ever known. Little did they 
think of all the woe that was in store for that young pair. 
—From " A Story of the Golden Age." Copyright, 1887, 1888, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



139.— PROMETHEUS 

The chiefest glory of Prometheus, whose name means 
Forethought, was that he was the friend of men. He aimed 
to make their lives less miserable and their lots less sad. 
They lived in caves or in holes scooped in the earth and 
made no provision for heat or cold or times of scarcity or 
the varying needs of youth and age. Prometheus took upon 
himself the task of lifting up the race to the level of the gods. 
He taught the use of fire, which he stole from the car of 
Helios, and brought to earth hidden in a fennel stalk. That 
was his first gift to men, but before he stopped giving, 
he had taught them all the arts which the old Greeks 
knew. 

When Zeus, who cared naught for the feeble sons of 
earth, and only sought to make their burdens heavier, 
looked down from high Olympus, and saw men no longer 
groveling on the earth like senseless beasts but standing 
upright and claiming kinship with the gods, he shook with 
pent-up anger. Fie called his servants, and bade them 
seize the friend of man, and bind him upon a peak of the 
snow-crowned Caucasus, there to linger through the ages in 
loneliness and pain. 

The ruthless servants went forth to do the bidding of 
Zeus. They took Prometheus, and bore him to the bleak 
and barren regions of the Caucasus, beyond the utmost limit 
of the habitable earth. Hephaestus unwillingly went with 



254 TEA&HER& HANDBOOK 

them, and bound the victim with bonds of brass to the 
lonely mountain crags. 
d(C) " I do this with loathing," said Hephaestus. " Thou shalt 
never see the face of man, never hear his voice. The blaze 
of the unpitying sun shall scorch thy fair skin, and thou 
shalt long for the night with its shimmering stars to cast a 
veil of coolness over thee. Year after year thou must bear 
it, and never be released from it." 

e With these words Hephaestus and the slaves of Zeus left 
him. Then the wild eagles swooped down from their high- 
built nest, and circled with threatening screams about him. 
A grim vulture flapped its wings in his face, and buried its 
talons in his bosom. A mighty storm came hurtling down 
through the mountain passes. The earth shook to and fro, 
and the peaks of Caucasus seemed as if toppling at their 
base. A hurricane of snow and rain and rattling ice smote 
Prometheus about the head, and wrapped his body in eddy- 
ing gusts. The lightnings leaped with lurid glare across the 
sky, and the thunders crashed with deafening roar among 
the crags, and earth and air and sea seemed blent together 
in a mighty turmoil, and whirling into utter chaos. Yet 
Prometheus quailed not, but sang of a day when right would 
triumph. 

f Thirteen generations of men passed. Then came Her- 
cules to purge the world of monsters and to give freedom to 
those who were in bonds. One day he was passing through 
the region of the Caucasus. He looked upward at the ever- 
lasting peaks, and saw Prometheus fettered to the naked 
rock, while the eagles circled around him and the vulture 
digged his talons into his flesh. Hercules knew, at once, that 
this was Prometheus, the friend of the human race and the 
foe of tyrants. He drew his bow, and with his unerring 
arrows slew the eagles and the vulture. Then, with 
mighty blows of his club, he broke the chains which Heph- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 255 

aestus had wrought, and with his strong hands loosed the 
long-suffering prisoner from his fetters. The earth rejoiced, 
and men everywhere sang pseans of triumph because free- 
dom had been given to him who had raised them from the 
dust, and endowed them with all good gifts. 

—From "A Story of the Golden Age." Copyright, 1887, 1888, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



140.— AN UNWILLING HERO 

In the shades of the orchard trees at the foot of Mount 
Neritus, there was gathered, one afternoon, a happy family 
party. The chief figure in the group was white-haired 
Laertes, in his gardener's garb, picking some ripe fruit from 
the overloaded branches. At his right stood his wife, 
Queen Anticleia, as nobly beautiful as when her hero- 
husband had won her in her father's halls. At his left was 
Penelope, her sweet face beaming with smiles; while on the 
ground beside her sat Odysseus, gently dandling in his arms 
his babe, Telemachus, and laughing at the budding wisdom 
of the child. 

Shortly a servant approached telling them of the arrival 
of Nestor, King of Pylos, and shrewd Palamedes of Euboea. 
They came with strange news, the news of a war between 
Greece and Troy because of the deep injury done King 
Menelaus of Lacedaemon by the Trojan prince, Paris. Long 
before, when they were all present at his marriage to Helen, 
the princes of Greece had promised to be the allies of Mene- 
laus, should any one try to rob him of his beautiful wife, and 
these messengers were come to remind Odysseus of his 
promise. As soon as he heard the servant's words, Odys- 
seus looked at his father, his mother, his wife, his dear babe, 
at all the sweet scene around him, and he said, his brow 
, darkening the while: 



256 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

b f " Why should I risk so much, and leaving all that is dear 

\ to me on earth, join in this war simply for the sake of Mene- 

llaus and Helen?" 

c All at once a great change seemed to come over him. He 

put the babe into the nurse's arms, and then, with long 

strides and in the aimless manner of a maniac, he made his 

way across the orchard, and along the footpath by the 

beach to the white palace near the shore. When his old 

friends, Nestor and Palamedes, saw him, they hastened 

towards him, expecting to receive his greeting, but he passed 

them without a word of recognition. 

His servants fled away from him crying out that he was 
mad. Nestor gazed on him in pity, saddened to see the 
wreck of so great a mind. But shrewd Palamedes whis- 
pered : 

"Do not judge hastily. We shall see whence this mad- 
ness comes. " 

Soon Odysseus rushed from his chamber. He was dressed 
in his richest garments, and on his shoulder he carried a bag 
of salt. Without speaking to any one, he made his way to 
the stables, where, with his own hands, he harnessed a mule 
and a cow, and yoked them side by side to a plow. Then 
he drove this strange team down to the beach, and began 
to plow long, deep furrows in the sand. By and by he 
strewed the white grains of salt here and there, as though he 
were sowing seed. 

All that day he plowed, and sowed. The next he was at 
work with the dawn. Later Palamedes appeared, and 
watched Odysseus closely. It chanced that at the moment 
Eurycleia, the nurse, was passing by with little Telemachus 
in her arms. Without a word Palamedes lifted the babe 
out of her arms, and laid it smiling in the last furrow so that 
on his next round the team of Odysseus would trample upon 
Lit, As Odysseus drew near, urging forward the mule and 



f 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 257 

"cow with many cries and maniacal gestures, he saw the 
helpless babe. The sight of its danger made him forget 
himself and his assumed madness; he turned his team 
aside, and running forward, seized Telemachus, and kiss- 
ing his laughing lips, handed him, with every show of gentle- 
ness, to the good nurse. 

"Ha, Odysseus!" cried Palamedes, "thou canst not 
. deceive us. Thou art no more mad than I." 

For a single moment the brow of Odysseus was clouded 
with anger because of the trick played on him. Then he 
took the hands of his old friends, and led them into the 
palace. He had been outwitted, and he owned it. He 
joined the princes of Greece in the war, and among them all 
there was no one more earnest for its success than he. 

—From "A Story of the Golden Age." Copyright, 1887, 1888, 
by Charles Seribner's Sons. 

141.— THE WOODEN HORSE 

Long, long years ago, in the great war between the 
Greeks and Trojans, the Greeks came to Troy, and sat down 
before the city. For ten years they stayed there before the 
walls of Troy, and for ten years the Trojans resisted all their 
efforts. Troy could not be carried by storm, and Troy 
could not be reduced by starvation. The Greeks did all 
that they could devise and all that their soothsayers could 
suggest, but still the gods did not give the city into their 
hands. In the tenth year of the siege, when the wearied 
Greeks were all too anxious to go aboard their ships, and 
sail back to Greece, and leave Troy for good and all, shrewd 
Odysseus suggested a plan. 

A wooden horse of wondrous size was made, and in" it the 
doughtiest warriors of the host, with young Pyrrhus as their 
leader, hid themselves. Then the rest of the Greeks em- 



258 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

barked with all their goods aboard their ships, and sailed 
away beyond the wooded shores of Tenedos, an island not 
far from Troy. The monster horse, with its hidden load of 
heroes, stood alone upon the beach. 

When the Trojans, looking from their high towers, beheld 
their enemies depart, they were filled with joy, and opening 
wide their gates, they poured out of the city, and crowded 
across the plain, anxious to see the wonderful horse — the 
only relic which their foes had left upon their shores. While 
they were gazing upon it, and hazarding many a guess at its 
purpose and use, a prisoner was brought before the chiefs. 
It was Sinon, a young Greek, who had been found lurking 
among the rocks by the shore. Trembling with pretended 
fear, he told the Trojans a sad, false story of wrongs which, 
he said, he had suffered at the hands of Odysseus. 

"But what meaneth this monster image of a horse? Tell 
.us that," said the Trojan chiefs. 

Then Sinon told them, how the Greeks had suffered great 
punishment at the hands of Athene, because they had stolen 
the sacred Palladion of Troy, and how it was on this ac- 
count that they had at last given up the siege of Troy and 
had sailed away to their distant homes in Greece. He told 
them, too, of the words of Calchas, the soothsayer; that 
they should leave on the shores of Troy an image which 
should serve the same purpose to those who honored it, as 
the sacred Palladion had served within the walls of Troy; 
and that, if the Trojans should revere this figure, and set it 
up within their walls, it would prove a tower of strength to 
them, insuring eternal greatness to Troy and utter destruc- 
tion to Greece. 

It need not be told how this artful story deceived the 
Trojans, and how with shouts of joy they dragged the great 
image into the city. It need not be told how, in the dark- 
ness of the night, the fleet returned from Tenedos, and the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 259 

mighty host again landed on the Trojan coast; or how the 
heroes, concealed within the wooden horse, came out of their 
hiding place, and opened the gates to their friends outside; 
or how the Greeks fell upon the astonished Trojans, awak- 
ened so suddenly from a false dream of peace; or how, with 
sword and torch, they slew, and burned, and meted out the 
doom of the fated city. It was thus that the princes of 
Greece performed the oath which they had sworn, years and 
years before, in the halls of King Tyndareus; and it was 
thus that the wrongs of Menelaus were avenged, and the 
honor of Greece was freed from blemish. 

—From " A Story of the Golden Age." Copyright, 1887, 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



142.— A WONDERFUL SWORD 

One morning, Mimer, the master-smith of his time, came 
into his shop with a troubled look on his face. An upstart 
in Burgundyland, one Amilias, had made a suit of armor 
which he boasted no sword could pierce. He challenged all 
other smiths to equal that piece of workmanship or acknowl- 
edge themselves his underlings. Mimer had tried for days, 
but in vain, to make a sword whose edge the boasted 
armor of Amilias could not foil. Now in despair he came to 
his pupils for help. 

All of them shook their heads, all except Siegfried, the 
son of the king. He offered to make a sword that no war- 
coat could foil. The other apprentices laughed in scorn 
while Siegfried went to his task. 

For seven days and seven nights the sparks flew from his 
forge, and the ringing of his anvil and the hissing of the iron, 
as he tempered it, were heard continuously. On the eighth 
day the sword was finished, and Siegfried brought it to 
Mimer, 



260 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

d A thread of wool as light as thistle-down was thrown into 
the water, and as it floated there, Mimer struck it with the 
sword. The glittering blade cleft the slender thread in 
twain, and the pieces floated undisturbed upon the surface 
of the water. 

e Then Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into 
many pieces, and for three days he welded it in a white-hot 
fire, and tempered it with milk and corn-meal. On the 
fourth day, in sight of Mimer and the sneering apprentices, 
he cast a light ball of fine-spun wool upon the flowing water 
of the brook. It was caught in the swift eddies of the 
stream, and whirled about until it met the bared edge of the 
sword, and it was parted as easily and cleanly as the rippling 
water, and not the smallest thread was moved out of its 
place. 

f Back to the smithy went Siegfried. His forge glowed 
with a brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the anvil 
with a cheerier sound than ever before. For seven weeks, 
alone and by himself, the lad wrought day and night at his 
forge. At last, pale and haggard, but with a pleased smile 
upon his face, he stood before Mimer with the gleaming 
sword in his hands. 

g Mimer looked long at the ruddy hilt of the weapon and at 
the mystic runes that were scored upon its sides and at the 
keen edge which gleamed like a ray of sunlight in the gath- 
ering gloom of the evening. Siegfried raised the blade high 
over his head, and the gleaming edge flashed hither and 
thither, like the lightning's play when Thor rides over the 
storm cloud. Suddenly it fell upon Mimer's anvil, and the 
great block of iron was cleft in two, but the bright blade was 
no whit dulled by the stroke, and the line of light which 
marked the edge was brighter than before. 

h f Next the great smith and his greater apprentice went to 
Whe brook. % A great pack of wool, the fleeces of ten sheep, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



261 



was brought, and thrown upon the swirling water. As the 
stream bore the bundle downwards, Mimer held the sword 
in its way. The whole was divided as easily and as cleanly 
as the woolen ball or the slender woolen thread had been 
cleft before. 

"Now, indeed/ 7 cried Mimer, "I no longer fear to meet 
that upstart, Amilias. If his war-coat can withstand the 
stroke of such a sword as this glittering terror, Balmung, I 
shall not be ashamed to be his underling." 

With that, Mimer went out to meet the boastful Amilias. 
Need it be said, what was the result of their meeting? 

—From "The Story of Siegfried." Copyright, 1882, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



143.— THE STORY OF SPRING 

Once Siegfried stood on the shore of the great North Sea, 
and gazed at the white waves that broke at his feet. While 
he looked, a white ship, with sails all set, came speeding over 
the waters towards him. A minstrel, with long white beard 
floating in the wind, sat at the prow, and the sweet music 
from his harp was wafted like incense to the shore. The 
vessel reached the sands; the sails were reefed as if by 
magic, and the crew leaped out upon the beach. 

"Hail, Siegfried the Golden!" cried the harper. "I am 
I Bragi." 

Siegfried noticed then that the ship was laden with flow- 
ers of every hue, and that thousands of birds circled around 
and above it, filling the air with their glad twitterings. For 
Bragi was the sweetest musician in all the world, and it was 
said that his home was with the song-birds, and that he had 
learned his skill from them. Once every year he went to 
the North-lands, and woke the earth from its long winter's 
sleep, and scattered music and smiles everywhere. 

Right gladly did Siegfried go aboard to sail with Bragi 



262 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

over the sea. Bragi stood at the prow, and touched the 
strings of his harp. As the music arose the white sails 
leaped up the masts, and a warm south breeze began to 
blow; and the little vessel, wafted by the sweet sounds and 
the incense of spring, sped gladly away over the sea. 

After a time the vessel began to meet great ice-mountains 
in the sea, mountains which the Reifriesen and old Hoder, 
the king of the winter months, had sent drifting down from 
the frozen land of the north. These melted at the sound of 
Bragi's music and at the sight of Siegfried's armor. And 
the cold breath of the Frost-giants, which had driven these 
mountains in the course of the vessel, turned, and became 
the ally of the south wind. 

At length they came in sight of a dark shore and a line of 
huge mountains, rising, as it were, out of the water, and 
stretching their gray heads far above the clouds. Long ago 
the Frost-giants had piled great heaps of snow upon these 
peaks, and built huge fortresses of ice between, and sought, 
indeed, to clasp in their cold embrace the whole of the Nor- 
wegian land. But the breezes of the South-land, that came 
with Bragi's ship, now played among the rocky steeps, 
sweeping over the frozen slopes above and melting the snow 
and ice. Thousands of rivulets ran down the mountain 
sides, and tumbled into rocky gorges, or plunged into the 
sea. The grass began to grow on the sunny slopes, and the 
flowers peeped up through the half-melted snow, and the 
music of spring was heard on every side. The sound of 
Bragi's harp awakened all sleeping things, and it was carried 
from rock to rock and from mountain height to valley, and 
was borne on the breeze far up the fjords and all over the 
land — the message of Bragi calling all nature from death 
back to life. 

—From "The Story of Siegfried/ ' Copyright, 1882, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 263 



144.— A WARRIOR MAIDEN 



The Valkyr maiden, Brunhild, Queen of Isenland, had 
issued a challenge to all the warriors of the world to contest 
with her in three games of strength: in casting the spear, in 
hurling the heavy stone, and in leaping. The prizes which 
she promised to the victor were her hand and her kingdom. 
But to protect herself from the intrusion of worthless 
knights, she made it a condition of the contest that all who 
were beaten should forfeit their lives. 

One spring morning, Gunther, King of Burgundyland, 
stood in the courtyard of Isenland ready for the contest. 
He would have been fearful enough of the outcome, had he 
not known that beside him stood his dearest friend, the 
peerless hero, Siegfried. But the presence of Siegfried was 
not suspected by anyone else, for he was wrapped in the 
Tarnkappe, a wondrous cloak that hid its wearer from 
sight, and gave him strength that could not be measured by 
the strength of men. 

The warrior maiden wore a rich war-coat, brought long 
ago from the Libyan shores, an armor which no sword could 
dint, and upon which the heaviest stroke of spear fell harm- 
less. Her helmet was edged with golden lace, and sparkled 
all over with rich gem-stones. Her lance, of wondrous 
length, would have been a heavy weight for three stout men. 
Her shield was as broad and as bright as the sun, and three 
spans thick with steel and gold. 

Thus accoutered, she stood in the space cleared in the mid- 
dle of the courtyard. First she threw her spear at Gun- 
ther 's shield. The mighty weapon sped through the air 
with the speed of lightning, and when it struck the shield, 
both Gunther and the unseen Siegfried, borne down by its 
weight, and the force with which it was thrown, fell to the 
, ground. Blood gushed from the nostrils of both, and sad 



264 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



* would have been their fate, if the friendly Tarnkappe had 
not hidden Siegfried from sight, and given him the strength 
of twelve giants. Quickly they rose. Gunther seemed to 
pick up the heavy shaft, but it was really Siegfried who 
raised it from the ground. For one moment he poised the 
great beam in the air, and then turning the blunt end fore- 
most, he sent it flying back more swiftly than it had come. 
It struck the huge shield which Brunhild held before her 
with a sound that echoed to the farthest cliffs of Isenland. 
The warrior maiden was dashed to the ground, but rising 
at once, she said: 

"That was a noble blow, Sir Gunther. I confess myself 
fairly outdone. But there are two chances yet, and you will 
do well, if you will equal me in these. We will try hurling 

^the stone and jumping." 

Twelve men came forward, carrying a huge rough stone in 
weight a ton or more. Brunhild raised this mass of rock in 
her arms, and held it high above her head; then she swung it 
backwards once, and threw it a dozen fathoms across the 
castle yard. Scarcely had it reached the ground when the 
mighty maiden leaped after, and landed just beside it. The 
thousand onlookers shouted in admiration. 

Gunther and the unseen Siegfried, not at all disheartened, 
picked up the heavy stone, which was half buried in the 
ground, and lifting it with seeming ease, threw it swiftly 
forward. Not twelve but twenty fathoms it flew; and 
Siegfried, snatching up Gunther in his arms, leaped after, 
and landed close to the castle wall. And Brunhild believed 
that Gunther had done these great feats through his own 
strength and skill, and she at once acknowledged herself 
beaten in the games, and bade her vassals do homage to 
Gunther as their rightful liege lord. 

—From "The Story of Siegfried." Copyright, 1882, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 265 

145.— GOLDEN HAIR 

One day, when Loki was wandering among the moun- 
tains, creeping through narrow ways and along narrower 
crevices, gliding under huge rocks and downward through 
slanting, crooked clefts, he came to a great underground 
hall, where his eyes were dazzled by a light which was 
stronger and brighter than day. On every side were glow- 
ing fires, roaring in wonderful forges and blown by wonder- 
ful little bellows. The vaulted roof above was thickly set 
with diamonds and precious stones, that sparkled and shone 
like thousands of bright stars in the blue sky. Little 
dwarfs with comical brown faces and wearing strange 
leathern aprons and carrying heavy hammers were hurrying 
here and there, or were busily at work at the forges. Some 
were smelting pure gold from the coarse rough rocks; others 
were making precious gems and rich rare jewels, such as the 
proudest king would be proud to wear. Here one was 
shaping pure, round pearls from dewdrops and maidens' 
tears; there another wrought green emeralds from the first 
leaves of spring. So busy were they all that they neither 
stopped, nor looked up when Loki came into their hall, but 
all kept hammering and blowing and working as if their 
lives depended on their being always busy. As he moved 
among them, the thought occurred to him that it would not 
be amiss to carry back to-day some souvenir of the wonder- 
ful work which he saw being done all around him. 

From the sons of Ivald who worked in gold, he asked a 
token to carry back to earth. They were glad to be asked 
by so great a personage. A lump of purest gold was 
brought and thrown into the glowing furnace, and it was 
melted, and drawn, seven times. Then it was given to a 
little brown elf with merry twinkling eyes, who carried it 
with all speed to another part of the great hall where the 



'{ 



266 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

dwarfs' wives were spinning. One of the little women took 
the yellow lump from the elf's hands, and laid it, like flax, 
upon her spinning wheel. Then she sat down, and began 
to spin, and as she spun, the dwarf-wives sang a strange 
sweet- song of the old, old days when the dwarf folk ruled 
the world. The tiny elves danced gleefully around the 
spinner, and the thousand little anvils rang out a merry 
chorus to the music of the singers. The yellow gold was 
twisted into threads, and the threads ran into hair softer 
than silk and finer than gossamer. At last the dwarf 
woman held in her hand long golden tresses ten times more 
beautiful than any hair which had ever grown on man or 
woman of earth up to that time. These she gave to Loki, 
and he carried them up with him to earth, and gave them to 
a little girl, who was very proud of them, for they were the 
first golden hair that men had ever seen. 

—From "The Story of Siegfried." Copyright, 1882, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



146.— THE STORY OF THE VOLCANO 

No offender can go on forever unpunished. One day the 
moment of wrath arrived for Loki, the mischief-maker of 
the gods. The Asas determined that they had condoned 
his sinning long enough. It was time to stop it. They 
came out from Asgard in a body, all bent on meting out just 
punishment to the long-standing wrong-doer; but when 
Loki heard the tumult of their approach, fearing that they 
meant him no good, he changed himself into a salmon, and 
hid in the whirling waters at the foot of the great Fanander 
Cataract. But the Asas found traces of him at the side of 
the waterfall, and suspected his place of concealment. 

They set to work quickly, and in a short time had finished 
a net strong and large and full of fine meshes. This they 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 267 

threw into the roaring stream, Thor holding one end and all 
the other folk pulling at the other. With great toil, they 
dragged it forward, against the current, even to the foot of 
the waterfall. But the cunning Loki crept down between 
two sharp stones, and lay there quietly while the net passed 
harmlessly over him. 

"Let us try again," said Thor. "I am sure that some- 
thing else besides dead rock lies at the bottom of the 
1st ream. " 

So they hung heavy weights to the net, and began to 
drag it a second time, this time going downstream. Loki 
looked out from his hiding place, and saw that he would not 
be able to escape again by lying between the rocks, and that 
his only chance of safety was either to leap over the net and 
hide behind the rushing cataract, or to swim with the cur- 
rent out to sea. But the way to the sea was long, and there 
were many shallow places, and Loki had doubts as to how 
Aegir would receive him in his kingdom. He feared to 
undertake so dangerous and uncertain a course. So, turn- 
ing upon his foes, and calling up all his strength, he made a 
tremendous leap high into the air and clean over the net. 
But Thor was too quick for him. As he fell towards the 
water, the Thunderer caught the slippery salmon, and held 
him firmly by the tail. 

When Loki found that he was surely caught, and could 
not by any means escape, he took again his proper shape. 
Fiercely did he struggle with mighty Thor, and bitter were 
the curses which he poured down upon his enemies. But he 
could not get free. Into the deep, dark cavern beneath the 
smoking mountain, where daylight never comes nor the 
warmth of the sun nor the sound of nature's music, the 
fallen mischief-maker was carried. They bound him firmly 
to the sharp rocks with his face turned upwards towards the 
dripping roof; for they said that nevermore should he be 



268 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

free to vex the world with his wickedness. Skade, the giant 
wife of Niord, and the wife of old Winter, took a hideous 
poisonous snake, and hung it above Loki so that its venom 
would drop into his face. But Sigyn, the loving wife of the 
suffering wretch, left her home in the pleasant halls of As- 
gard, and came to his horrible prison house to soothe and 
comfort him, and evermore she holds a basin above his 
head, and catches the poisonous drops as they fall from the 
mouth of the serpent. When the basin is filled, and she 
turns to empty it into the tar-black river that flows from 
that home of horrors, the terrible venom falls upon his un- 
protected face, and Loki writhes, and shrieks in fearful 
agony until the earth around him shakes and trembles, and 
the mountain spits forth fire and fumes of sulphurous 
smoke. — This explains why the volcano sometimes sends 
forth no fire or smoke, and, at others, belches them forth 
like a furnace. 

—From "The Story of Siegfried." Copyright, 1882, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



147.— THE KNIGHT OF THE SWAN 

One day Charlemagne and his Court were halting at a 
castle that overlooked the Rhine. All at once the clear- 
ringing sound of a bell reached their ears. At first it 
seemed far away, but it came nearer and nearer, until the 
whole air seemed filled with the sweet, simple music. All 
eyes in the castle were turned in the direction whence the 
strange music seemed to come. Windows, doors, and bat- 
tlements were crowded by knights and ladies, squires, pages 
and menials, all looking down the river. 

At first they saw nothing save the waving of the weeds 
in the wind and the long ripple of the waves on the shelving 
banks. Louder and nearer came the bell. A mist like a 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 269 

silver cloud, resting on the water, seemed coming slowly 
toward the castle. Sweeter and sweeter grew the sounds, 
like the music of angel voices. And now the watchers could 
see a white swan floating on the water. On its neck there 
was a crown of gold, and behind it a silver boat, made like 
the shell of a scallop, which it drew by a silken cord, and in 
the scallop sat a knight in full armor, his device a strange 
one so that no one knew from what land he came. In the 
bow of the boat was a silver bell, but none of the watchers 
knew whether the sound that ravished their ears was caused 
by it or by the song of the swan. 

Nearer and nearer came the boat. At last it stopped 
alongside the landing place, and when the swan ceased row- 
ing, the strange music ceased also. A peer of Charlemagne 
stood at the landing to welcome the stranger, and, as soon 
as he had helped him out of the scallop, the swan turned 
about, and swam away in the direction whence he had come, 
drawing the empty boat behind him. And the strange 
sweet music which began, as soon as the swan commenced 
rowing, grew fainter and still more faint, until at last it died 
away in the distance, and was never heard again. 

Meanwhile the strange knight was led into the presence of 
the king, and though he seemed right nobly bred and 
courteous, it was soon plain to all that he was quite dumb. 
Not a knight in all the company, though they came from 
many lands, could hold converse with him. At length 
Roland saw that a ribbon was tied round the stranger's 
neck, and that to it was fastened a small roll of parchment. 

At the command of Charlemagne, Roland took the roll, 
and read these words: 

"My name is Gerard Swan, of the race of Lohengrin. I 
seek a home with you, and a wife, and a fief of lands. " 

Charlemagne looked admiringly at the young knight for a 
few moments. Then he took off his own mantle of crimson 



270 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

silk and rich ermine, and threw it over the knight's shoulders. 
And a banquet was held that day, and the Knight of the 
Swan sat at the right hand of the king. 

—From "The Story of Roland." Copyright, 1883, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



148.— THE WHITE STAG 

a One of the expeditions of the great Charlemagne was into 
Italy. He had determined to descend into Italy through 
the Alps, but when he had gotten some distance into the 
mountains, the rocks and gorges, the winding ways and the 
steep ascents presented so many difficulties that both the 
king and his army were discouraged and fain to turn back 
and either to give up the expedition altogether or to try to 
enter Italy by some other way. Then the good Archbishop 
Turpin bade Charlemagne have courage, and set himself to 
prayer. 

b While the Archbishop prayed, there came down the moun- 
tain crags a beautiful creature such as none of that knightly 
company had ever seen before. It was a noble stag, white 
as the drifted snow, his head crowned with wide-branching 
antlers, from every point of which bright sunbeams seemed 
to flash. 
c(C) " Behold our hope!" cried the Archbishop. " Behold the 
sure-footed guide which God has sent us to lead us through 
narrow ways and over dangerous steeps to the smiling 
valleys and fields of Italy!" 

d The mountain walls rose up before them as grim and 
steep as ever; and the snow-crowned crags looked down 
upon them more angrily than before, and there seemed no 
road nor pathway which the foot of man could follow. But 
the wondrous white stag, which had filled their minds with 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 271 

a new-born hope, still stood in plain sight on the lowermost 
slopes of the mountain. 

The king without once taking his eyes from the Heaven- 
sent creature sounded his bugle, and the great army, con- 
fiding in the wisdom of their leader, began to move. The 
white stag went first, steadily following a narrow pathway, 
which led upwards by many steep ascents, seemingly to the 
very clouds; and behind him rode Charlemagne, keeping 
ever in view his radiant, hopeful guide, and followed by a 
long line of warriors and knights, who, cheered by his earn- 
est faith, never once feared the end. Higher and higher 
they climbed, and more and more difficult became the way. 
On one side of them arose a steep wall, shutting out from 
their sight more than half the sky; on the other side dark 
gorges and yawning gulfs descended, threatening to bury 
the whole army in their bottomless depths. 

By and by they came to the region of snow and ice, where 
the Storm-king holds his court, and reigns in everlasting 
solitude. And, looking back, they could see sweet France, 
lying spread out as a map before them, its busy towns and 
its pleasant fields seeming only as specks in the dim dis- 
tance. But when they looked forward, hoping there to see 
a like map of fair Italy, only the rocks and the ice and the 
narrow pathway and the desolate crags met their sight. 
And they would have been disheartened by the difficulties 
before them, and have turned back in utter despair, had not 
the bright form of their guide and the cheerful countenance 
of Charlemagne inspired them with renewed hope. 

For seven days they toiled among the dangerous steeps; 
and on the eighth a glorious vision burst upon their view — 
the smiling plains of Italy lay before them. At this sight a 
great shout of joy went up from the throats of the toil-worn 
heroes, and the good Archbishop returned thanks to heaven 
for their deliverance from peril. And when the army 



272 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

raised their heads after joining the Archbishop in his 
prayer, the mysterious white deer had disappeared. 

—From "The Story of Roland." Copyright, 1883, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



149.— ROLAND'S HORN 

a Among all his knightly accouterments, the thing which 
Roland prized the most was an ivory horn which he hung 
from his neck by a golden chain. This horn had been made 
from the tooth of a sea-horse, or what is more likely, the 
tusk of a unicorn; and it was set thick with pearls and 
precious gems and inlaid with silver and gold. Old stories 
are not quite clear as to how or where Roland got this horn, 
but it is said that it was a gift from the king. 
b Charlemagne had long prized it as a rare treasure, not 
only on account of its great beauty and its workmanship, 
but also because of the wonderful music which was said to 
issue from it when blown by anyone who was strong enough 
to sound it. Yet nobody in Charlemagne's time had ever 
heard it. The stoutest knights who came to Paris or to Aix 
were challenged to blow upon it, and the king promised to 
give the beautiful instrument to him who could first make 
the slightest sound come out of it. And, although some had 
split their lungs in trying, no one had ever succeeded in mak- 
ing a single note. On an idle day in winter the king be- 
thought him of challenging Roland to blow. 
c(C) " Dear nephew/' said he, "you have never been beaten in 
tourney or in fight, nor have you failed in any thing you 
have undertaken. I have here something that will test 
your strength. It is the horn of my grandfather, the great 
Charles the Hammer. In his days, when men were stronger 
and more valiant than they are now, the most wondrous 
sounds were made to come cut of it. I have heard it said 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 273 

that these sounds had all the sweetness of angels' songs 
coupled with the deafening din of the thunder's crash. In- 
deed, some slanderers once whispered that it was the sound 
of this horn rather than his own valor or that of his fighting 
men that won for Charles the Hammer that grand victory 
over the Saracens at Poictiers which has made his name 
famous. But men have grown weak of lungs, and not a 
knight in all France can blow the horn now." 

d Roland took the ivory horn in his hands, and admired its 
beauty. Then he put it to his mouth and blew. A sound 
more wonderful than any man then living had ever heard 
came forth, and filled the hall and the great palace, and 
rolled out through the gates and into the streets and over the 
country, and was carried from city to castle and from castle 
to country-side, and through the forests and over the moun- 
tains, until the whole land, for leagues and leagues around, 
echoed and re-echoed with the wondrous vibrations. Never 
were folk more astonished than those who heard this sound. 
Men, women and children stood in utter amazement, hold- 
ing their hands to their ears, afraid to listen, and yet wishing 
to hear. Some thought that the heavens were falling, and 
that the end of the world had come. Others wondered what 
kind of thunder this was, which, with all its deafening 
clangor, was sweeter than music. The king with hasty 
gestures begged Roland to stop blowing; but after he had 
ceased, the sound continued for a long time to reverberate 
among the castle towers and from hill to hill, and from earth 
to sky, like the distant rolling of thunder after a summer 
storm. 
e(C) "The horn is yours," said the king, delighted and amazed. 
"You have fairly won it, and no one can gainsay your right 
to it. But I give it to you only on condition that you never 
blow it save in battle, and in time of utmost need." 

f And Roland took the horn, and hung it at his side, and it 



274 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

was with that horn that he sounded his death-song when he 
lay dying in the Valley of Thorns. 

—From "The Story of Roland." Copyright, 1883, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



150.— CHAINING THE SOUTH WIND 

a When Astolpho was in that monarch's country, he asked 
Prester John for a band of warriors who would be allowed to 
go with him across the desert to invade Algeria and the 
land of the Moors, and thus lend aid to his liege-lord Charle- 
magne. The king was so grateful to Astolpho for many 
favors, which the knight had done him, that he readily 
granted his request. He sent forth his heralds to bid all the 
bravest warriors of his kingdom to come and join the stand- 
ard of Astolpho. And there came from every mountain 
stronghold and from every country-side, troops of armed 
men equipped and ready for the march. But, when they 
learned that they were expected to march across the great 
desert, they shook their heads and hesitated. 
b(C) " We shall never live to cross those terrible sands," said 
they. "The South Wind will come upon us, like the breath 
of a furnace, and will scorch the skin of our bodies, and 
parch our tongues with thirst; and then the whirlwind will 
take up the sand in its arms, and hurl it down upon us, and 
bury us alive." 
d But Astolpho had already done such wonders among 
them that he was able to quiet their fears; and to make 
ready for the journey, on the evening previous to the day set 
for the march, he secretly mounted his winged courser, and 
flew away towards the south. On and on he flew till he 
came to the land where dwell the summer's heat and the 
fierce fire-forces. There, in a cave, the South Wind has her 
home. Every day, at early morn, she comes out of her 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 275 

dwelling, and roams over the earth, kissing the buds and 
blossoms and causing them to open to the sun; rippling the 
waters of the lake, and rustling among the canebrakes and 
the corn; melting the snow and ice on the mountain tops, 
and laughing with the rivulet which pours its waters over 
the rocky ledge; unlocking the frozen rivers, and sending 
great icebergs out to sea; speeding the heavily laden ships 
on their homeward voyage; stirring the waves into fury, 
and feeding the death-dealing whirlwinds which sweep over 
the desert and the sea. Oh, a kind blessing as well as a 
fearful curse is the South Wind! 

When Astolpho came to her dwelling, she had retired to 
rest. Not a leaf was stirring on the trees, not a ripple could 
be seen on the lake. All nature seemed asleep. Even in 
the cavern of the South Wind no sound was heard, save that 
of her heavy breathings as she lay reposing in her golden 
chamber. Astolpho hearkened a moment, and then care- 
fully spread a magic net across the cavern's mouth; so that, 
when the South Wind should waken from her slumber, and 
should step forth from her dwelling, ready dight for her 
wondrous journey over the world, she should be caught and 
held fast in the meshes. Then he turned the head of his 
winged courser, and was soon safely back in the palace of 
Prester John. 

At sunrise the dreaded march across the desert was com- 
menced. And the warriors who followed Astolpho won- 
dered what had become of the South Wind, and why no sand 
storms overtook them; for the only breeze that met them 
was the gentle, cooling West Wind, which cheered and 
strengthened them during their long journey. And at last 
the gray peaks of the Atlas Mountains and the tall palm 
trees of Algeria came in sight, and their perilous march was 
at an end. Then the South Wind, who had at last rid her- 
self of the troublesome net, came tripping across the desert 



276 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

after them. She climbed the mountains after them, and 
played among the tree-tops in the valleys, and whistled 
gleefully in the glens; but she had no power to do them any 
harm. 

—From "The Story of Roland." Copyright, 1883, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



151.— THE DEATH OF ROLAND 

Long and fierce had raged the fight in the Vale of Thorns, 
and terrible was the slaughter. With heart and strength 
the handful of French knights struck. The Moors were 
slain by hundreds and by thousands. For a time victory 
seemed to be with the French. Many and valiant were the 
deeds performed by Roland and Oliver and the good Arch- 
bishop and the peers that were with them. But at length 
Marsilius came down upon them with a fresh body of seven 
thousand Moors. They hemmed the French heroes in on 
every side. Roland beheld his knights falling round him 
one by one. All were slain save sixty men. 

Roland saw that he was in desperate plight, and resolved 
that, if his companions might not be saved, they would at 
least have Christian burial. He would let Charlemagne 
know of their fate. He lifted his wonderful horn to his lips. 
High were the hills, deep were the gorges, narrow were the 
ways among the mountains. Yet the sound of that horn 
was heard for thirty leagues. Its notes reached Charle- 
magne and the main body of the French as they were going 
out of the gates of the Pyrenees. The king knew at once 
that some evil must have befallen the rear-guard, and he 
and all the host turned back to the succor of the heroes in 
the Vale of Thorns. 

Fiercely the battle raged in the ill-fated valley. One by 
one the French knights fell; but for every one that was slain 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 277 

ten pagans bit the dust. Oliver was slain. Not a knight 
survived save Roland and the Archbishop. Valiantly these 
two fought off the foe. But Roland was bleeding from a 
dozen wounds; he felt his life-blood oozing away. He 
would know if Charlemagne was coming. He drew his 
horn, and feebly sounded it. 

The king heard the feeble blast, for he was in a pass not 
many miles away. At once sixty thousand trumpets an- 
swered it. Roland heard them, and thanked God. The 
pagans heard them, and knew that it boded them no good. 
They rushed in a body upon Roland and the Archbishop. 
Roland's horse was slain under him; the Archbishop was 
mortally wounded, and stretched upon the ground. Again 
the trumpets of Charlemagne's host were heard, and the 
pagans turned, and fled in haste towards Spain. 

When the pagans disappeared, Roland went through the 
field, weak and faint as he was, seeking his friends. He car- 
ried them one by one, and laid them down before Turpin, 
that they might receive the Soldier-Bishop's last blessing. 
The Archbishop wept, as he lifted up his hands, and blessed 
them, saying: 

"Sad has it been with you, comrades. May God, the 
L glorious King, receive your souls into His paradise." 

Then Roland, faint with loss of blood and overcome with 
grief, swooned, and fell to the ground. The good Arch- 
bishop felt such distress as he had never known before. He 
staggered to his feet; he took the ivory horn in his hands, 
and went to fetch water from the brook. Slowly and feebly 
he tottered onward, but not far; his strength failed, and he 
fell to the ground. Soon Roland recovered from his swoon, 
and looked about him. On the green grass, beside the rivu- 
let, the good Turpin lay dead, 
gj Then Roland felt that he, too, was nigh death's door. 
He took the ivory horn in one hand and Durandal in the 



: { 



278 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

other, and went up a little hill that lies toward Spain. He 
sat down beneath a pine tree where were four great blocks 
of marble. He looked at the blade Durandal, and said: 

"Ha, Durandal, how bright and white thou art! Great 
. shame were it for thee to fall into the hands of pagan folk." 

With great effort he raised himself on his feet again. Ten 
times he smote with Durandal the great rock before him. 
But the sword was bright and whole as ever, while the rock 
was split in pieces. Then the hero lay down upon the grass 
with his face toward the foe. He put the sword and the 
horn under him. He stretched his right glove forward, and 
an unseen hand came, and took it away. — Dead was the 
matchless hero. 

Not long after Charlemagne and his army came at the 
charge into the death-strewn Vale of Thorns. Great was his 
grief, and that of all the French, when they found that they 
had come too late to save even a single life. Reverently 
they buried all the dead there save Roland and Oliver and 
Archbishop Turpin. Those three the king carried to Blaye 
in France, and laid them in white marble tombs; and there 
they lie till this day in the beautiful little chapel of St. 
Roman's. 

—From "The Story of Roland." Copyright, 1883, 1888, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 

152.— THE QUEST OF THE GRAIL 

The Holy Grail was the cup from which our Saviour 
drank at his last supper. He was supposed to have given it 
to Joseph of Arimathea, who carried it to Europe together 
with the spear with which the soldier pierced the Saviour's 
side. From generation to generation one of the descendants 
of Joseph of Arimathea had been devoted to the guardian- 
ship of these precious relics; but on the sole condition of 
leading a life of purity in thought, word, and deed. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



279 



For a long time the Holy Grail was visible to all pilgrims, 
and its presence conferred blessings upon the land in which 
it was preserved. But at length one of those holy men to 
whom its guardianship was intrusted so forgot the obliga- 
tion of his sacred office that he fell into sin. The sacred 
spear instantly punished his frailty, spontaneously falling 
on him, and inflicting a deep wound. The marvelous 
wound could by no means be healed, and the guardian of the 
Holy Grail was ever afterwards named the Sinner King. 
The Holy Grail withdrew its visible presence from the 
crowds who came to worship, and an iron age succeeded to 
the happiness which its presence had diffused among the 
tribes of Britain. 

Now in the days of King Arthur, Sir Gawain brought a 
message from Merlin to the King, directing him to undertake 
the recovery of the Holy Grail, informing him at the same 
time that the knight who should accomplish that sacred 
quest was already born and of an age to enter upon it. The 
king was anxiously revolving in his mind how best to achieve 
the enterprise, when, at the vigil of Pentecost, all the fellow- 
ship of the Round Table being met together at Camelot, as 
they sat at meat, suddenly there was heard a clap of thun- 
der, and then a bright light burst forth, and every knight, 
as he looked upon his fellow, saw him, in seeming, fairer 
than ever before. Then there entered into the hall the 
Holy Grail, covered with white samite, so that none could 
see it, and it passed through the hall, and disappeared. 

During all the time that the mystic beam and the cloud of 
light that covered the Grail were in their sight, the knights 
spoke not a word. But, when it had disappeared, Arthur 
said: 

" Certainly we ought greatly to thank the Lord for what 
c he has shown us this day." 

Then, without waiting to hear from Arthur what he 



280 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

should be who went upon the quest, Sir Gawain arose, and 
made a vow that for twelve months and a day he would 
seek the Holy Grail and not return till he had seen it, if so 
he might speed. When they of the Round Table heard Sir 
Gawain, they arose, the most part of them, and vowed the 
same. 
f When King Arthur heard them speak, he was greatly dis- 
pleased, for he knew well that they might not gainsay their 
vows, and he also knew well that there were many among 
them whose souls were not free enough from sin to take that 
quest upon them. But they went forth upon the enterprise, 
and, as Arthur foresaw, many of them never returned to the 
Round Table more, but perished in an attempt that was not 
for their sin-stained souls, and for which they had not made 
themselves ready by purifying the impure emotions in their 
hearts. 

—From " The Boy's King Arthur." Copyright, 1880, by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 

153.— SIN-STAINED 

a One night Sir Launcelot of the Table Round arrived be- 
fore a castle which was rich and fair. It was built upon a 
rock, with chasm-like portals open to the sea and steps that 
ran down to meet the breakers. There was no sign of life 
about the castle save two lions. Launcelot made the sign 
of the cross on his forehead, and came to the lions, and they 
made semblance to do him harm, but he passed them with- 
out hurt, and entered into the castle, and he found no gate 
nor door but it was open. But at last he found a chamber, 
whereof the door was shut; and he set his hand thereto, to 
have opened it, but he might not. 

b f Then he listened, and he heard a voice that sung so 
\ sweetly that it seemed no earthly thing; and the voice 
I said: 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 281 

" Glory and joy and honor to our Lord, 

And to the Holy vessel of the Grail. " 

Then Sir Launcelot kneeled down before the chamber, for 

well he wist that there was the Holy Grail in that chamber. 

Then said he: 

"Fair, sweet Lord, if ever I did anything that pleased 
thee, for thy pity show me something of that which I 
I seek.". 

And with that he saw the chamber door open, and there 
came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright as 
though all the torches of the world had been there. So he 
came to the chamber door, and would have entered; and 
anon a voice said to him to enter not. And he withdrew 
him back, and was right heavy in his mind. Then looked he 
in the midst of the chamber, and saw a table of silver and 
the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many angels 
about it; whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and 
another held a cross^and the ornaments of the altar. 

Then for wonder and thankfulness, Sir Launcelot forgot 
himself, and he stepped forward, and entered the chamber. 
And suddenly a breath that seemed mixed with fire smote 
him so sore in the visage, that therewith he fell to the ground, 
and had no power to rise. 

Then felt he many hands upon him, which took him up, 
and bore him out of the chamber, without any amending of 
his swoon, and left him there, seeming dead to all the peo- 
ple. But, when they felt his pulse, and looked upon him, 
they found life in him. So they took him, and bare him 
into a chamber, and laid him upon a bed, and after twenty- 
four days he opened his eyes. And when he saw folk, he 
made great sorrow, and asked why they had awakened him, 
for he had seen great marvels that no tongue could tell and 
more than any heart could think. Then they said the quest 
of the Holy Grail was achieved in him, and never would he 



282 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



see more than he had seen. Then he thanked God for what 
he had seen, for it sufficed him. 

And after four days he took leave of the lord of the castle 
and of all the fellowship that were there, and thanked them 
for their great labor and care of him. Then he departed, 
and turned to Camelot, where he found King Arthur and 
Queen Guinevere; but many of the knights of the Round 
Table were slain, more than half. Then all the court was 
passing glad of Sir Launcelot; and he told the king all his 
adventures that had befallen him since he departed on the 
quest of the Grail. 

"But what I saw was veiled 
And covered; this quest was not for me "■; 
for, on the soul of Launcelot, was the stain of sin. 

—From " The Boy's King Arthur." Copyright, 1880, by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 



154.— SIR GALAHAD AND THE GRAIL 

Now, in the quest for the Grail, Sir Galahad rode many 
journeys in vain, and afterward, meeting with Sir Bohort 
and Sir Percival, they saw many wonders; till on a certain 
day they came down into a ship, and in the midst thereof 
they found a table of silver and the Holy Grail covered with 
red samite. And they made great reverence thereto, and 
Sir Galahad prayed a long time to our Lord, that at what 
time he should ask to pass out of this world, he should do so; 
and a voice said to him that he should have his request; and 
that, when he should ask the death of the body, he should 
have it, and that then he should find the life of his soul. 

And anon the wind drove them across the sea, till they 

came to the city of Sarras. Then took they out of the ship 

the table of silver, and Sir Percival and Sir Bohort took it 

. before, and Sir Galahad came behind, and right so they went 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 283 

" to the city. And at the gate of the city they saw an old 
man, a cripple. Then Sir Galahad called him, and bade 
him help bear this heavy thing. 

"Truly," said the old man, "it is ten years since I could 
go but with crutches." 

"Care thou not," said Sir Galahad, "but arise up, and 
show thy good will." 

Then the old man rose up, and assayed, and found himself 
as whole as he ever was; and he ran to the table, and took 
k one part with Sir Galahad. 

When they came to the city, it chanced that the king was 
just dead, and all the city was dismayed, and wist not who 
might be their king. Right so, as they were in council, 
there came a voice among them, and bade them choose the 
youngest knight of those three to be their king. So they 
made Sir Galahad king, by all the assent of the city. And 
when he was made king, he commanded to make a chest of 
gold and precious stones to hold the holy vessel. And every 
day the three companions would come before it, and make 
their prayers. 

Now, at the year's end and the same day of the year that 
Sir Galahad received the crown, he got up early with his 
fellows, and came to where the holy vessel was. And they 
saw one kneeling before it that had about him a great fellow- 
ship of angels; and he called Sir Galahad, and said: 

"Come, thou servant of the Lord, and thou shalt see what 
thou hast much desired to see." 

And Sir Galahad's mortal frame trembled right hard when 
he began to behold the spiritual things. Then said the good 
man: 

"Now wottest thou who I am?" 

"Nay," said Sir Galahad. 

"I am Joseph of Arimathea, whom our Lord hath sent 
l here, to bear thee fellowship." 



284 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Then Sir Galahad lifted up his hands towards heaven and 
said: 

"Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live, if it might 
L please thee." 

And when he had said these words, Sir Galahad went to 
Sir Percival and to Sir Bohort, and kissed them, and com- 
mended them to God. And then he kneeled down before 
the table, and made his prayers, and suddenly departed, and 
a great multitude of angels bare his soul up to heaven, so as 
his two fellows could well behold it. Also they saw come 
from heaven a hand, but they saw not the body; and the 
hand came right to the vessel of the Holy Grail, and bare it 
up to heaven. And over Galahad's head, as he went up into 
heaven, the holy vessel hung, redder than any rose. And 
his two fellows knew that the veil had been withdrawn, and 
that Sir Galahad had seen the Holy Grail, for he was pure of 
heart. 

—From " The Boy's King Arthur." Copyright, 1880, by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 



155.— THE PASSING OF ARTHUR 

When Arthur was growing old, his nephew Modred, 
anxious to possess the throne of his great uncle, formed a 
conspiracy against him, and the goodly fellowship of the 
Round Table was sundered, and all the land was divided. 
In that accursed war, in the last great battle by the lake, 
Arthur met his ungrateful nephew, and would not permit 
him to escape his hands. The king made at him, and Modred 
smote his liege hard on the helm, while Arthur, striking the 
last stroke with Excalibur, slew him, and fell, all but slain 
himself. 

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, seeing the king fall, raised 
him up, and gently led him betwixt them to a chapel not far 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 285 

from the seaside. Then Arthur bade Sir Bedivere take 
Excalibur, .and fling it far into the middle of the lake, and 
watch what he saw, and quickly bring him word. 

So Sir Bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld that 
noble sword, that the pommel and the heft were all of 
precious stones, and then he said to himself that, if he were 
to throw that rich sword into the water, no good should 
come thereof but only harm and loss. And then Sir Bedi- 
vere hid Excalibur under a tree, and came again unto the 
king. The king asked him what he had seen. He answered 
that he had seen nothing. 

"Alas! thou hast deceived me," said the king; "go thou 
lightly again, and as thou love me, spare not to throw it 
in." Then Sir Bedivere went again, but yielded a second 
time to the temptation, and hid the sword. Again the king 
discovered his weakness, and again upbraided him, and sent 
him forth upon the selfsame mission as before. 

Then Sir Bedivere ran leaping down the ridges, and, 
plunging among the bushes where the sword was hid, 
clutched the sword, and strongly wheeled, and threw it. 
The great brand made lightning in the moonlight, and 
flashing round and round and whirling in an arch, shot like 
a streamer of the northern light, and fell towards the lake. 
But, before it dipped beneath the surface, an arm, clothed 
in white samite, rose from the water, caught the sword 
by the hilt, brandished it three times, and drew it under 
the lake. 

Sir Bedivere returned to the king, and told him what he 
had seen, and the king bade him bear him thence. Then Sir 
Bedivere took the king on his back, and so went with him 
to that water-side; and when they came there, even fast by 
the bank there rode a little barge with many fair ladies in it, 
and among them was a queen; and all had black hoods, and 
they wept, and shrieked when they saw King Arthur. 



286 - TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Then Sir Bedivere put King Arthur aboard the barge, and 
those queens received him. 

Then they rowed from the land. And Sir Bedivere be- 
held them go from him. And he cried out after Arthur, and 
Arthur spoke to him, and said that he was going a long way 
to the island valley of Avalon, and he bade Bedivere pray 
for him. And, when the hull looked a black dot against the 
dawn and the wailing died away, Bedivere turned him, and 
when the morning came, was ware of a chapel and a her- 
mitage near. And he prayed the hermit he might abide 
with him; and he put on poor clothes, and served the hermit 
full lowly in fasting and in prayer. Of Arthur never more is 
found written in books. Yet some men say he is not dead 
but is carried away into another place, and men say he will 
come again, and reign over England. 

—From " The Boy's King Arthur." Copyright, 1880, by Charles 
Scribner's Sons. 



156.— THE PROVING OF A KING 

After the death of Uther-Pendragon, overlord of all 
Britain, all the realm fell into great disorder, and there 
passed eighteen years in such great affliction that, one day, 
the Archbishop of Canterbury summoned the seer Merlin to 
him, and bespake him in this wise: 

" Merlin, men say that thou art the wisest man in all the 
world. Canst thou not find some means to heal the dis- 
tractions of this woeful realm? — some means to find a king 
who shall be a fit overlord for us so that we may once more 
enjoy happiness as in the days of Uther-Pendragon." 

So Merlin caused by magic that a huge stone should sud- 
denly appear in an open place before the cathedral door. 
And upon this block of marble he caused it to be that there 
should stand an anvil, and into the anvil he caused it that 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 287 

there should be thrust a great naked sword midway deep 
of the blade. And this sword was the most wonderful that 
any man had ever seen, for the blade was of blue steel and 
extraordinarily bright and glistering. And the hilt was of 
gold, chased and carved with marvelous cunning and inlaid 
with a great number of precious stones, so that it shone with 
wonderful brightness in the sunlight. And about the 
sword were written these words in letters of gold: 

" Whoso Pulleth out this Sword from the Anvil 
That same is Rightwise King-Born of England/' 

Then when Merlin had accomplished this miracle, he bade 
the Archbishop to call together all the chief people of that 
land upon Christmas-tide; and he bade the Archbishop to 
command that every man should make assay to draw out 
the sword, for that he who should succeed in drawing it 
forth out of the anvil should be rightwise King of Britain. 

So when the morning of Christmas came, many thousands 
of folks of all qualities, both gentle and simple, gathered to- 
gether in front of the cathedral to behold the assay of the 
sword. Now unto that assay there had gathered nineteen 
kings and sixteen dukes. After the Archbishop had estab- 
lished himself upon his throne, the herald sounded his 
trumpet, and bade all who had a right to make the assay 
of the sword to come upon that adventure. 

Then one after another of all that number bent their 
bodies, and drew upon the sword with great strength, but 
they could not move the blade in the anvil even so much as 
the breadth of a hair, for it stood as fast as the iron in which 
it was planted. And some of these high and mighty lords 
were filled with anger and indignation that they had not 
succeeded, and others were ashamed that they had failed in 
that undertaking before the eyes of all who looked upon 
them. But whether they were angry or whether they were 
ashamed, it in nowise helped their case. 



288 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Now while all that company of kings and dukes spoke 
together that Merlin had made a mock of them all, the seer 
tfiade way through the press, leading the youth Arthur. 
When he stood before the Archbishop's throne, he said: 

"Lord, here is one to make assay of yonder sword." 

The Archbishop looked upon Arthur, and he beheld that 
the youth was very comely of face, wherefore his heart went 
out unto Arthur, and he loved him a great deal. And he 
gave Arthur leave to make assay of the sword. 

Thereupon Arthur went to the cube of marble stone, and 
he laid his hands upon the haft of the sword that was thrust 
into the anvil. And he bent his body, and drew very 
strongly; and lo! the sword came forth very smoothly and 
with great ease. And when he had got the sword into his 
hands, he swung it above his head so that it flashed like 
lightning. And after he had swung it thus thrice above his 
head, he set the point thereof against the face of the anvil, 
and bore upon it very strongly, and behold! the sword slid 
very smoothly back again into that place where it had afore- 
time stood; and when it was there, midway deep, it stood 
fast where it was. And thus did Arthur successfully accom- 
plish the miracle of the sword before the eyes of all the 
world. 

And of all the kings and dukes who were there, some were 
willing to acknowledge Arthur king, because of the miracle, 
but others would not acknowledge him. And these would 
have none of him except upon further trial and upon greater 
avouchment. So, for the sake of peace the Archbishop 
ordered that another assay of the sword should be made at 
Candlemas; and here again all those who endeavored to 
draw forth the sword failed thereat, but Arthur drew it 
forth several times, very easily, in the sight of all. And after 
that a third trial was made at Easter, and after that a 
fourth trial was made at Pentecost. And at all these 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 289 

trials Arthur repeatedly drew out the sword from the anvil, 
and no one but he could draw it forth. Wherefore the 
people, high and low, demanded that he should be made 
king. So Arthur was anointed and crowned unto royal 
estate. 

— From "The Story of King Arthur and His Knights." Copy- 
right, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



157.— KING ARTHUR AND THE SABLE KNIGHT 

The challenge given and taken, King Arthur and the 
Sable Knight rode forth upon the lawn, and took their sta- 
tions, each as seemed to him to be convenient. Then each 
knight dressed his shield and his spear for the encounter, 
and having thus made ready for the assault, each shouted 
to his war-horse, and drove his spurs deep into his flank. 

Then those two noble steeds rushed forth like lightning, 
coursing across the ground with such violent speed that the 
earth trembled and shook beneath them, as it were by cause 
of an earthquake. So those two knights met fairly in the 
center of the field, crashing together like a thunderbolt. 
And so violently did they smite the one against the other 
that the spears burst into splinters, even unto the guard and 
truncheon thereof, and the horses of the riders staggered 
back from the onset, so that only because of the extraordi- 
nary address of the knights-riders did they recover from fall- 
ing before that shock of meeting. 

A second time they ran the course with like outcome. 
And now for the third time, having thus prepared them- 
selves, those two excellent knights hurled themselves to- 
gether in furious assault. And now, as twice before, did 
King Arthur strike the Sable Knight so fairly in the center 
of his defense that the spear which he held was burst into 
splinters. But this time, the spear of the Sable Knight did 



290 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

not so break in that manner, but held; and so violent was 
the blow that he delivered upon King Arthur's shield that 
he pierced through the center of it. Then the girths of the 
king's saddle burst apart by that great, powerful blow, and 
both he and his steed were cast powerfully backward. So 
King Arthur might have been overcast, had he not voided 
his saddle with extraordinary and knightly address, where- 
fore, though his horse was overthrown, he himself still held 
his footing, and did not fall into the dust. Ne'theless so 
violent was the blow that he received that, for a little space, 
he was altogether deprived of his senses so that everything 
whirled around before his eyes. 

But when his sight returned to him he was filled with 
anger so vehement that it appeared to him as though all the 
blood in his heart rushed into his brains so that he saw 
naught but red, as of blood, before his eyes. And when 
this also had passed, he perceived the Sable Knight that 
he sat his horse at no great distance. Then immediately he 
ran to him, and catching the bridle-rein, he thrust the horse 
backward so vehemently, that the other was constrained 
to void his saddle to save himself from being overthrown 
upon the ground. 

And now each knight was as entirely furious as the other, 
wherefore each drew his sword, and dressed his shield, and 
thereupon they rushed together like two wild bulls in battle. 
They foined, they smote, they traced, they parried, they 
struck again and again, and the so.und of their blows, crash- 
ing and clashing the one upon the other, filled the entire 
surrounding space with an extraordinary uproar. Nor 
may any man altogether conceive of the entire fury of that 
encounter, for, because of the violence of the blows which 
the one delivered upon the other, whole cantles of armor 
were hewn from their bodies and many deep and grievous 
wounds were given, and received, so that the armor of 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 291 

each was altogether stained with blood because of the 
blood which flowed down upon it. 

At last King Arthur struck so fierce a blow that no armor 
could have withstood that blow had it fallen fairly upon it. 
But it befell with that stroke that his sword broke at the 
hilt, and the blade thereof flew into three several pieces into 
the air. Yet was the stroke so wonderfully fierce that the 
Sable Knight groaned, and staggered, and ran about in a 
circle as though he had gone blind, and knew not whither to 
direct his steps. 

But presently he recovered himself again, and perceiving 
King Arthur standing near by, and not knowing that his 
enemy had now no sword for to defend himself withal, he 
cast aside his shield, and took his own sword into both 
hands, and therewith smote so dolorous a stroke that he 
clave through King Arthur's shield and through his helmet 
and even to the bone of his brain-pan. 

Then King Arthur thought he had received his death- 
wound. His brains swam like water, his thighs trembled 
exceedingly, and he sank down to his knees, whilst the blood 
and sweat, commingled together in the darkness of his 
helmet, flowed down into his eyes in a lather, and blinded 
him. Thereupon, seeing him thus grievously hurt, the 
Sable Knight called upon him with great vehemence for 
to surrender his shield, because he was now too sorely 
wounded for to fight any more. 

But King Arthur would not yield himself, but catching 
the other by the sword-belt, he lifted himself to his feet. 
Then, being in a manner recovered from his amazement, he 
embraced the other with both arms, and placing his knee 
behind the thigh of the Sable Knight, he cast him backward 
down upon the ground so violently that the sound of the 
fall was astounding to hear. And with that fall the Sable 
Knight was entirely bereft of consciousness. Then King 



292 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Arthur straightway unlaced the helm of the Sable Knight, 
and drew his misericordia, and set the point thereof at his 
neck, and then he knew that the fallen knight was King 
Pellinore who had twice warred against him. 

— From " The Story of King Arthur and His Knights." Copy- 
right, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



158.— EXCALIBUR 

Now about the middle of an afternoon King Arthur and 
Merlin, the seer, came, of a sudden, out of the forest and 
upon a fair and level plain, bedight all over with such a 
number of flowers that no man could conceive of their num- 
ber nor of the beauty thereof. 

And this was a very wonderful land, for, lo! all the air 
appeared as it were to be as of gold, so bright was it and so 
singularly radiant. And here and there upon the plain were 
sundry trees all in blossom; and the fragrance of the blos- 
soms was so sweet that the king had never smelt any fra- 
grance like it. And in the branches of those trees were a 
multitude of birds of many colors, and the melody of their 
singing ravished the heart of the hearer. And midway of 
the plain was a lake of water as bright as silver, and all 
around the border of the lake were incredible numbers of 
lilies and daffodils. Yet, although this place was so ex- 
ceedingly fair, there was, nevertheless, nowhere about it a 
single sign of human life of any sort, but it appeared alto- 
gether as lonely as the hollow sky upon a day of summer. 
So, because of all the marvelous beauty of the place and 
because of its strangeness and its entire solitude, King 
Arthur perceived that he must have come into a land of 
powerful enchantment where, happily, dwelt a fairy of very 
exalted quality; wherefore his spirit was enwrapped in a 
mariner of fear ? as he pushed his great milk-white war- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



293 



horse through that long fair grass, all bedight with flowers, 
and he wist not what strange things were about to befall 
him. 

So when he had come unto the margin of the lake, he be- 
held there the marvel that Merlin had told him of afore- 
time. For lo! in the midst of the expanse of water there 
was the appearance of a fair and beautiful arm, as of a 
woman, clad in white samite. And the arm was encircled 
with several bracelets of wrought gold; and the hand held 
a sword of marvelous workmanship aloft in the air above 
the surface of the water; and neither the arm nor the sword 
moved so much as a hair's breadth, but were motionless 
like to a carven image upon the surface of the lake. And, 
behold! the sun of the strange land shone down upon the 
hilt of the sword, and it was of pure gold beset with jewels 
of several sorts, so that the hilt of the sword and the brace- 
lets that encircled the arm glistered in the midst of the lake 
like to some singular star of exceeding splendor. And King 
Arthur sat upon his war-horse, and gazed from a distance at 
the arm and the sword, and he greatly marveled thereat; 
yet he wist not how he might come at that sword, for the 
lake was wonderfully wide and deep, wherefore he knew 
not how he might come thereunto for to make it his own. 
And as he sat pondering this thing within himself, he was 
suddenly aware of a strange lady, who approached him 
through those tall flowers that bloomed along the margin 
of the lake. 

And, when he perceived her coming toward him, he 
quickly dismounted from his war-horse, and he went for- 
ward to meet her with the bridle-rein over his arm. And, 
when he had come nigh to her, he perceived that she was 
extraordinarily beautiful, and that her face was like wax 
for clearness, and that her eyes were perfectly black, and 
. that they were as bright and glistening as though they were 



294 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

two jewels set in ivory. And he perceived that her hair 
was like silk, and as black as it was possible to be, and so 
long that it reached unto the ground as she walked. And 
the lady was clad all in green, only that a fine cord of crim- 
son and gold was interwoven into the plaits of her hair. 
And around her neck there hung a very beautiful necklace 
of opals and emeralds set in cunningly wrought gold; and 
around her wrists were bracelets of the like sort of opals and 
emeralds set in gold. So, when King Arthur beheld her 
wonderful appearance, that it was like to an ivory statue of 
exceeding beauty clad all in green, he immediately kneeled 
before her in the midst of all those flowers as he said : 

"Lady, I do perceive that thou art Fay. I have come 
hither, *and have found it even as Merlin hath said as to 
yonder sword. An it be possible, I would fain achieve that 
excellent sword." 

"King Arthur," said the Lady of the Lake, "I will do 
what I may to aid thy wishes in this matter." 

Whereupon she lifted a single emerald that hung by a 
small chain of gold at her girdle, and lo! the emerald was 
cunningly carved into the form of a whistle. And she set 
the whistle to her lips, and blew upon it very shrilly. Then 
straightway there appeared upon the water, a great way off, 
a certain thing that shone very brightly. And this drew 
near with great speed, and as it came nigh, behold! it was a 
boat all of carven brass. And the prow of the boat was 
carved into the form of a head of a beautiful woman, and 
upon either side were wings like the wings of a swan. And 
the boat moved upon the water like a swan, very quickly, 
so that long lines, like to silver threads, stretched faraway 
behind, across the face of the water, which otherwise was 
like unto glass for smoothness. And when the brazen boat 
had reached the bank, it rested there, and moved no more. 

Then the Lady of the Lake bade King Arthur to enter 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH , 295 

the boat, and so he entered it. And immediately he had 
done so, the boat moved away from the bank as swiftly as it 
had come hither. And Merlin and the Lady of the Lake 
stood upon the margin of the water, and gazed after Arthur 
and the brazen boat. 

And King Arthur beheld that the boat floated swiftly 
across the lake to where was the arm uplifting the sword, 
and that the arm and the sword moved not, but remained 
where they were. 

Then King Arthur reached forth, and took the sword in 
his hand, and immediately the arm disappeared beneath 
the water, and King Arthur held the sword and the scab- 
bard thereof and the belt thereof in his hand, and lo! they 
were his own. 

Then the brazen boat bore him quickly back to the land 
again, and he stepped ashore where stood the Lady of the 
Lake and Merlin. Arthur gave the Lady great thanks 
beyond measure, and having saluted the Lady as became 
him and having mounted his war-horse and Merlin having 
mounted his palfry, they rode away — the King's heart still 
greatly expanded with pure delight at having for his own 
that beautiful sword — the most beautiful and the most 
famous sword in all the world, the great Excalibur. 

— From "The Story of King Arthur and His Knights." Copy- 
right, 1905, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 

159.— A BATTLE ON STILTS 

In the year 1748 the great Marshal Saxe, who was travel- 
ing through the Low Countries, came to the town of Namur 
in Belgium. There the citizens did everything in their 
power to make his stay pleasant and to do him honor, and 
among other things they got up a battle on stilts. 

These inhabitants of Namur are well used to stilts, for 
their town, which has a river on each side of it, lay very 



296 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

low, and was subject to overflows, and then the people were 
obliged to use stilts in order to walk about the streets. In 
this way they became very expert in the use of these slim, 
wooden legs, and to make them amusing as well as useful 
they used to have stilt-fights on all holidays and great 
occasions. 

The young men of the town, two or three hundred being 
on each side, would form themselves into opposing armies, 
and with flags flying and trumpets blowing, they would 
advance to the attack. 

And they fought hard and well. It was against the rule 
to use any club or similar weapon, or to strike with the fists. 
Punching with the elbow, to push each other down, and 
kicking with the stilts, to knock the opponents' legs from 
under them, were the methods of assault in this kind of 
warfare. 

The battle often lasted an hour or two, the armies fight- 
ing and shouting, advancing and retreating; while the war- 
riors' wives and sisters stood near-by, encouraging them 
by shouts and hand-clapping, and when an unfortunate 
fellow was knocked down, these women would hasten to his 
assistance, and help him up again, as soon as he had re- 
covered from his fall. 

This was rough sport, for the combatants fought as if 
their lives and fortunes depended on their victory, and 
although they did not often seriously injure one another, 
there were many sore heads and bruised legs and arms after 
the battle was over. 

Marshal Saxe knew all about fighting, and on this occasion 
he declared that, if two real armies should engage with as 
much fury as did these young fellows on stilts, the battle 
would be a butchery. 

— From " Roundabout Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy." 
Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 297 

160.— THE LEGEND OF BOMERE POOL 

Centuries ago a village stood in the hollow which is now 
filled up by the mere. But the inhabitants were a wicked 
race, who mocked at God and his priests. They turned 
back to the idolatrous practices of their forefathers, and 
worshiped Thor and Woden; they scorned to bend the 
knee, save in mockery, to God who had died to save their 
souls. The old priest earnestly warned them that God 
would punish their wickedness by some sudden judgment, 
but they laughed him to scorn. They fastened fish-bones 
to the skirt of his cassock, and set the children to pelt him 
with mud and stones. The holy man was not dismayed at 
this, but increased his entreaties and warnings, so that some 
few turned from their evil ways and worshiped with him 
in the little chapel, which stood on the bank of a rivulet 
that flowed down from the mere on the hillside. 

The rains fell that December in immense quantities. 
The mere was swollen beyond its usual limits, and all the 
hollows in the hills were filled to overflowing. One day, 
when the old priest was on the hillside gathering fuel, he 
noticed that the barrier of peat, earth, and stones, which 
prevented the mere from flowing into the valley, was ap- 
parently giving way before the mass of water above. He 
hurried down to the village, and besought the inhabitants to 
come up and cut a channel for the discharge of the superflu- 
ous water of the mere. They greeted his proposal with 
shouts of derision, telling him to go and mind his prayers, 
and not to spoil their feast with his croaking and kill- joy 
presence. 

These heathens were then keeping their winter festival 
with great revelry. It fell on Christmas Eve. That same 
night the aged priest summoned his few faithful ones to 
attend the midnight Mass which ushered in the feast of our 



298 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

Saviour's Nativity. The night was stormy, and the rain 
fell in torrents; yet this did not prevent the little flock from 
coming to the chapel. The servant of God had already 
begun the Holy Sacrifice, when a deafening roar was heard 
in the upper part of the valley. The server was just ringing 
the Sanctus bell which hung in the bell-cot, when a flood of 
water dashed into the church, and rapidly rose until it put 
out the altar lights. In a few moments more the whole 
building was washed away; and the mere, which had burst 
its mountain barrier, occupied the hollow in which the vil- 
lage had stood. 

Men say that, even at this late day, if you sail over the 
mere on Christmas Eve just after midnight, you may hear 
the Sanctus bell tolling. 

—Miss C. S. Bourne, " Shropshire Folk-Lore." 

161.— THE DEATH OF MARY STUART 

The procession now set forward. It was headed by the 
sheriff and his officers. Next followed Pawlet, and Drury, 
and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent; and lastly came 
the Scottish Queen, with Melville bearing her train. She 
wore the richest of her dresses, that which was appropriate 
to a queen dowager. Her step was firm and her counte- 
nance cheerful. She bore without shrinking the gaze of the 
spectators and sight of the scaffold, the block, and execu- 
tioners; and advanced into the hall with that grace and 
majesty which she had so often displayed in her happier 
days and in the palace of her fathers. To aid her, as she 
mounted the scaffold, Pawlet offered his arm, and she 
thanked him, saying that it was the most acceptable service 
he had ever rendered her. 

The queen seated herself on the stool which was prepared 
for her. The Dean of Peterborough told her that she 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



299 



might yet find mercy before God, if she would repent of her 
wickedness. Mary repeatedly desired him not to trouble 
himself and her. He persisted; she turned aside. He 
made the circuit of the scaffold, and again addressed her 
from the front. An end was put to this extraordinary 
scene by the Earl of Shrewsbury who ordered him to pray. 
His prayer was the echo of his sermon; but Mary heard him 
not. She was employed at the time in her devotions, re- 
peating, with a loud voice, and in the Latin language, long 
passages from the Book of Psalms. When he had done, she 
prayed in English for Christ's afflicted Church, for her son 
James, and for Queen Elizabeth. At the conclusion, hold- 
ing up the crucifix, she exclaimed: " As Thy arms, God, 
were stretched out upon the cross, so receive me into the 
arms of Thy mercy, and forgive me my sins." " Madam," 
said the Earl of Kent, "you had better leave such Popish 
trumperies, and bear Him in your heart." She replied, "I 
cannot hold in my hand the representation of His sufferings, 
but I must at the same time bear Him in my heart." 

When her maids, bathed in tears, began to disrobe their 
mistress, the executioners, fearing to lose their usual per- 
quisites, hastily interfered. The queen remonstrated, but 
instantly submitted to their rudeness, observing to the earls 
with a smile that she was not accustomed to employ such 
grooms, or to undress in the presence of so numerous a 
company. Her servants at the sight of their sovereign in 
this lamentable state could not suppress their feeling; but 
Mary, putting her finger to her lips, commanded silence, 
gave them her blessing and solicited their prayers. 

She then seated herself again. Kennedy, taking a hand- 
kerchief edged with gold, pinned it over her eyes; the exe- 
cutioners, holding her by the arms, led her to the block; 
and the queen, kneeling down, said repeatedly with a firm 
^ voice, "Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit." 



f 



300 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

" But the sobs and groans of the spectators disconcerted the 
headsman. He trembled, missed his aim, and inflicted a deep 
wound in the lower part of the skull. The queen remained 
motionless, and at the third stroke, her head was severed 
from the body. When the executioner held it up, the mus- 
cles of the face were so strongly convulsed, that the features 
could not be recognized. He cried as usual, "God save 
.Queen Elizabeth. " 

"So perish all her enemies! " subjoined the Earl of Peter- 
borough. 

"So perish all the enemies of the gospel!" exclaimed, in 
a still louder tone, the fanatical Earl of Kent. 

Not a voice was heard to cry Amen. Party feeling was 
.absorbed in admiration and pity. 

— John Lingard, "History of England." 

162.— THE DEMONIAC 

There was something in Juba not himself. He felt it in 
his breathing, he tasted it in his mouth. He plunged into 
the brook. He would drown in it, if it were deep enough. 
He rolled about on its flinty, rocky bed. When he came 
out, his tunic stuck to him, and he tore it off, and let it hang 
around his girdle in shreds. 

Suddenly the power within him began uttering the most 
fearful blasphemies — conceptions he might indeed have 
borne with patience or uttered in bravado before this, but 
which now filled him with inexpressible loathings. But he 
was carried away against his will, the prey of a dreadful, 
mysterious power, that tyrannized over him. 

He passed through the forest. He was a taller, stronger 
man than he had been. He went forward with preter- 
natural vigor, and flourished his arms with the excitement 
of intoxication. He passed the dens of the lion, leopard, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 301 

hyena, jackal, wild boar and wolf. He saw them sitting at 
the entrance or stopping suddenly as they prowled along, 
but not daring to approach. 

He strode on from rock to rock. A beast of prey came 
across him. In a moment he had torn up by the roots the 
stump of a wild vine which was near him, had thrown him- 
self upon the foe, had flung it upon its back, forced the 
weapon into its mouth, and was stamping on its chest. 
He knocked the life out of the animal, tore open its flesh, 
applied his mouth to the wound, and sucked a draught of its 
blood. 

He comes to a village grove where the rustics are holding 
a feast in honor of Pan. There is the hideous, brutal god — 
a slaughtered lamb decked with flowers at his feet. Juba 
enters, capers about among the dancing peasants. They 
see him, cease from their sport, and look on in terror. Juba 
begins to groan and shriek as if contending with himself 
against some new act. The struggle ends — he falls on his 
knees, and creeps nearer to the idol, nearer — he groans, he 
shudders, he lays himself flat on the ground, and wriggles 
toward the idol like a worm — laps up with his tongue the 
mingled blood and dust lying about the sacrifice. Then his 
nature asserts itself. He leaps into the air, falls upon the 
idol, breaks it to pieces, and is off in the darkness. 

Just at that moment the Christian Bishop Csecilius and 
his companion, Victor, were passing along the dark road 
among the hills. They were saying prayers and singing 
psalms, when a sudden cry was heard and a tall form rushed 
past them. The being turned, came again more slowly. 
Csecilius recognized, from his remarkable figure, Juba. 

"Juba," he said. 
g f Juba started back. Csecilius called again. The poor 
i fellow came nearer. Csecilius called a third time. Juba 
*- stood at a short distance from him. 



302 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

g f "Away, black hypocrite! Come not near me. Away, 
1 hound of a priest! Cross not my path lest I tear you to 
^ shreds/ ' 
h f Csecilius raised his hand, and made the sign of the cross, 
■j Then he said: 
L "Come." 
i Juba advanced, shrieked, rushed upon Caecilius as if he 
would treat him as he had treated the savage wolf. Cae- 
cilius stood his ground, quailing neither in eye nor limb; he 
made the sign of the cross a second time; and Juba, in spite 
of the manifest antagonism in him, followed after him. 

— Adapted from John Henry Newman, "Callista." 

163.— THE PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS 

a A cloud or mist was hanging over the country, high in 
air. From the cloud a harsh and shrill sound, a whizzing 
and chirping proceeded. The portent was plain. It was 
the locusts! 

b The swarm was a compact body as much as a furlong 
square, but it was only the vanguard of an army. Hosts 
after hosts they advanced twelve miles from front to rear. 
Like snow they fell to the earth, a living fall upon fields, 
crops, gardens, copses, groves, orchards, vineyards, olive- 
woods, orangeries, palm-plantations and deep forests. As 
they came on, the peasants dug pits and trenches, they 
filled them from the wells or with lighted stubble — but it 
was in vain! Heavily and thickly the locusts fell. They 
were lavish of lives, they choked the flames and the water 
with their dead and moved on. 

c On into the vineyard. On every grape and leaf there is a 
locust. Into the caves and pits where the harvesters have 
been lodging their far-famed African wheat — the stores 
intended for the Roman populace — the locusts have been 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 303 

beforehand with them. Into the small patches belonging 
to the peasantry, into the turnips, garlic, barley, the food 
of the poor, come the glutton invaders. 

Up to the walls of Sicca. Surely they cannot enter the 
city! Not a moment's hesitation or delay; they recover 
their footing, they climb up the wood or stucco, they sur- 
mount the parapet, they enter in at the windows, filling the 
luxurious chambers, not one or two like stragglers at forage, 
or rioters after a victory, but in order of battle and with the 
array of an army. They dim the bright marbles of the 
walls and the gildings of the ceilings. They enter the 
triclinium in the midst of a banquet; they crawl over the 
viands, and spoil what they do not devour. Unrelaxed by 
success or enjoyment, onward they go; a secret, mysterious 
instinct keeps them together as if they had a king over 
them. Onward they go to the market, to the bakers 7 
stores, to the cookshops, wherever man has aught to eat or 
drink, there they are reckless of death, strong of appetite, 
certain of conquest. — They have passed! 

Twenty miles beyond the city they sicken and die. In 
the moist, steaming underwood, in the green swamps, in the 
sheltered valleys, in the ditches and furrows of the fields — 
the hideous swarms lie dead. A poison issues from the 
dead, mingles with the atmosphere, corrupts it. — It is the 
plague. 

To the city from famine and disease flee peasants, slaves, 
overseers, farmers, proprietors. From famine, from the 
plague, come they all. Their hope is vain. The city is 
quarantined against them. Alas! ye people of Sicca, the 
air cannot be put in quarantine. That dark form in the 
alleys, in the streets, in the hovels, in the palaces — is the 
plague. 

— Adapted from John Henry Newman, " Callista." 



304 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



164.— THE VILLAGE PREACHER 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from town, he ran his goodly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; 
Unskillful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain. 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his breast; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sat by the fire and talked the night away; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe. 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 



Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And even his failings leaned to virtue's side; 
But, in his duty prompt at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 305 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

d Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul, 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

e At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway; 
And fools, who came, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

— Oliver Goldsmith, " Deserted Village." 

165.— THE CASHIER 

a The cashier at that time was one Evans, a Cambro- 
Briton. He had something of the choleric complexion of 



306 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

his countrymen stamped on his visage, but was a worthy, 
sensible man at bottom. He wore his hair, to the last, 
powdered and frizzed out, in the fashion which I remember 
to have seen in caricatures of what were termed, in my 
young days, Maccaronies. He was the last of that race of 
beaux. 

Melancholy as a gib-cat over his counter all the forenoon, 
I think I see him, making up his cash (as they call it) with 
tremulous fingers, as if he feared everyone about him was a 
defaulter; in his hypochondry ready to imagine himself one; 
haunted, at least, with the idea of the possibility of his be- 
coming one; his tristful visage clearing up a little over his 
roast neck of veal at Anderton's at two (where his picture 
still hangs, taken a little before his death by the desire of 
the master of the coffee-house, which he had frequented for 
the last five-and-twenty years), but not attaining the 
meridian of its animation till evening brought on the hour 
of tea and visiting. 

The simultaneous sound of his well-known rap at the 
door with the stroke of the clock announcing six was atopic 
of never-failing mirth in the families which this dear old 
bachelor gladdened with his presence. Then was his forte, 
his glorified hour! How would he chirp, and expand over 
a muffin! How would he dilate into secret history! His 
countryman, Pennant himself, in particular, could not be 
more eloquent than he in relation to old and new London 
— the site of old theaters, churches, streets gone to decay — 
where Rosamond's pond stood — the Mulberry Gardens — 
and the conduit in Cheap — with many a pleasant anecdote, 
derived from paternal tradition, of those grotesque figures 
which Hogarth has immortalized in his picture of Noon — 
the worthy descendants of these heroic confessors, who, 
flying to this country from the wrath of Louis the Four- 
teenth and his dragoons, kept alive the flame of pure re- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 307 

ligion in the sheltering obscurities of Hog Lane, and the 
vicinity of the Seven Dials. 

— Charles Lamb, " Essays of EJia." 

166.— DAVID AND GOLIATH 

a Saul clothed David with his garments, and put a helmet 
of brass upon his head, and armed him with a coat of mail. 
And David, having girded his sword upon his armor, began 
to try if he could walk in armor, for he was not accustomed 
to it. And David said to Saul, "I can not go thus, for I am 
not used to it." And he laid them off. And he took his 
staff, which he had always in his hands, and chose him five 
smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in the shep- 
herd's scrip which he had with him, and he took a sling in 
his hand, and went forth against the Philistine. 

b And the Philistine came on, and drew nigh against David, 
and his armor bearer before him. And when the Philistine 
looked, and beheld David, he despised him. For he was a 
young man, ruddy, and of a comely countenance. And the 
Philistine said to David: "Am I a dog, that thou comest 
to me with a staff?" And the Philistine cursed David by 
his gods. And he said to David: "Come to me, and I will 
give thy flesh to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the 
earth." 
c(C) And David said to the Philistine: "Thou comest to me 
with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I 
come to you in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of 
the armies of Israel, which thou hast defied. This day and 
the Lord will deliver thee into my hand, and I will slay thee, 
and take away thy head from thee: And I will give the car- 
casses of the army of the Philistines this day to the birds of 
the air, and to the beasts of the earth: that all the earth 
may know that there is a God in Israel. And all this as- 



308 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

sembly shall know, that the Lord saveth not with sword 
and spear: for it is his battle and he will deliver you into 
our hands." 

And when the Philistine arose and was coming, and drew 
nigh to meet David, David made haste, and ran to the fight 
to meet the Philistine. And he put his hand into his scrip, 
and took a stone, and cast it with the sling, and fetching it 
about struck the Philistine in the forehead: and the stone 
was fixed in his forehead, and he fell upon his face upon the 
earth. 

And David prevailed over the Philistine, with a sling and 
a stone, and he struck and slew the Philistine. And as 
David had no sword in his hand, he ran, and stood over the 
Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath, 
and slew him, and cut off his head. 

And the Philistines, seeing that their champion was dead, 
fled away. And the men of Israel and Juda rising up 
shouted, and pursued after the Philistines till they came to 
the valley and the gates of Accaron, and there fell many 
wounded of the Philistines in the way of Saraim, and as far 
as Geth, and as far as Accaron. 

—I Kings, 17. 

167.— THE HALL FARM 

Evidently that gate is never opened; for the long grass 
and the great hemlocks grow close against it; and if it were 
opened, it is so rusty that the force necessary to turn it on its 
hinges would be likely to pull down the square stone-built 
pillars, to the detriment of the two stone lionesses which 
grin with a doubtful carnivorous affability above a coat of 
arms surmounting each of the pillars. It would be easy 
enough, by the aid of the nicks in the stone pillars, to climb 
over the brick wall with its smooth stone coping; but by 
putting our eyes close to the rusty bars of the gate, we can 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 309 

see the house well enough, and all but the very corners of 
the grassy inclosure. 

It is a very fine old place, of red brick, softened by a pale, 
powdery lichen, which has dispersed itself with happy ir- 
regularity, so as to bring the red brick into terms of friendly 
companionship with the limestone ornaments surrounding 
the three gables, the windows, and the door-place. But the 
windows are patched with wooden panes, and the door, I 
think, is like the gate — it is never opened: how it would 
groan and grate against the stone floor if it were! For it is 
a solid, heavy, handsome door, and must once have been in 
the habit of shutting with a sonorous bang behind a liveried 
lackey who had just seen his master and mistress off the 
grounds in a carriage and pair. 

But at present one might fancy the house in the early 
stage of a chancery suit, and that the fruit from that grand 
double row of walnut trees on the right hand of the inclosure 
would fall and rot among the grass; if it were not that we 
heard the booming bark of dogs echoing from great build- 
ings at the back. And now the half-weaned calves, that 
have been sheltering themselves in a gorse-built hovel 
against the left hand wall, come out, and set up a silly 
answer to that horrible bark, doubtless supposing that it 
has reference to buckets of milk. 

Yes, the house must be inhabited, and we will see by 
whom, for imagination is a licensed trespasser: it has no 
fear of dogs, but may climb over walls and peep in at win- 
dows with impunity. Put your face to one of the glass panes 
in the right hand window: what do you see? A large open 
fireplace, with rusty dogs in it, and a bare boarded floor; 
at the far end, fleeces of wool stacked up; in the middle of 
the floor, some empty corn bags. That is the furniture of 
the dining room. And what through the left hand window? 
Several clothes-horses, a pillion, a spinning-wheel, and an 



310 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



old box wide open, and stuffed full of colored rags. At the 
edge of this box there lies a great wooden doll, which, so far 
as mutilation is concerned, bears a strong resemblance to 
the finest Greek sculpture, especially in the total loss of its 
nose. Near it there is a little chair, and the butt end of a 
boy's leather long-lashed whip. 

The history of the house is plain now. It was once the 
residence of a country squire, whose family, probably 
dwindling down to mere spinsterhood, got merged in the 
more territorial name of Donnithorne. It was once the 
hall; it is now the hall farm. Like the life in some coast 
town that was once a watering-place, and is now a port, 
where the genteel streets are silent and grass grown, and the 
docks and the warehouses busy and resonant, the life at the 
hall has changed its focus, and no longer radiates from the 
parlor but from the kitchen and the farmyard. 

—George Eliot, " Adam Bede." 

168.— THE TOURNAMENT 



When Bois-Guilbert and Ivanhoe stood opposed to 
each other at the two extremities of the lists, the public 
expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured 
the possibility that the encounter could terminate well for 
Ivanhoe, yet his courage and gallantry secured the general 
good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of 
lightning, and closed in the center of the lists with the 
shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up 
to the very grasp; and it seemed at the moment that both 
knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil 
backward upon its haunches. The address of the liders 
recovered their steeds by the use of the bridle and spur; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 311 

and having glared on each other for an instant with eyes 
that seemed to flash fire through the bars of their vizors, 
each made a demivolt, and retiring to the extremity of the 
lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations attested the inter- 
est taken by the spectators in this encounter — the most 
equal, as well as the best performed, which had graced the 
day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station 
than the clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so 
deep and so dead that the multitude were afraid even to 
breathe. 

A few minutes' pause having been allowed, that the com- 
batants and their horses might recover breath, Prince John 
with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the 
onset. The champions a second time sprung from their 
stations, and closed in the center of the lists, with the same 
speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the 
same equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter the Templar aimed at the center 
of his antagonist's shield and struck it so fair and forcibly 
that his spear went to shivers, and Ivanhoe reeled in his 
saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the be- 
ginning of his career, directed the point of his lance towards 
Bois-Guilbert's shield; but changing his aim almost in the 
moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet — a 
mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered 
the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit Bois- 
Guilbert on the vizor, where his lance's point kept hold of 
the bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, Bois-Guilbert 
sustained his high reputation; and had not the girth of his 
saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it 
chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the 
ground under a cloud of dust. 



312 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed 
was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and stung 
with madness, both at his disgrace and at the acclamations 
with which it was beheld by the spectators, he drew his 
sword, and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. Ivanhoe 
sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. The 
marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses between 
them, and reminded them that the laws of the tournament 
did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of 
encounter. 

—Sir Walter Scott, " Ivanhoe." 

169.— THE HALL OF CEDRIC THE SAXON 

In a hall, the height of which was extremely dispropor- 
tioned to its extreme length and width, a long oaken table, 
formed of planks rough-hewn from the forest, and which had 
scarcely received any polish, stood ready prepared for the 
evening meal of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed of 
beams and rafters, had nothing to divide the apartment 
from the sky excepting the planking and thatch. There 
was a huge fireplace at either end of the hall, but as the 
chimneys were constructed in a very clumsy fashion, at 
least as much of the smoke found its way into the apart- 
ment as escaped by the proper vent. The constant vapor, 
which this occasioned, had polished the rafters and beams 
of the low-browed hall by incrusting them with a black var- 
nish of soot. On the sides of the apartment hung implements 
of war and of the chase, and there were at each corner 
folding doors which gave access to other parts of the exten- 
sive dwelling. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the 
rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued 
himself on maintaining. The floor was composed of earth 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 313 

mixed with lime, trodden into a hard substance, such as is 
often employed in flooring our modern barns. For about 
one quarter of the length of the apartment the floor was 
raised by a step; and this space, which was called the dais, 
was only occupied by the principal members of the family 
and visitors of distinction. For this purpose a table richly 
covered with scarlet cloth was placed transversely across 
the platform, from the middle of which ran the longer and 
lower board, at which the domestics and inferior persons 
fed. The whole resembled the form of the letter T, or some 
of those ancient dinner-tables which, arranged on the same 
principles, may be still seen in the antique colleges of Oxford 
or Cambridge. Massive chairs and settles of carved oak 
were placed upon the dais, and over these seats and the 
more elevated table was placed a canopy of cloth, which 
served in some degree to protect the dignitaries who occu- 
pied that distinguished station from the weather, and espe- 
cially from the rain which in some places found its way 
through the ill-constructed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais 
extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, and upon 
the floor there was a carpet, both of which were adorned 
with some attempts at tapestry, or embroidery, executed 
with brilliant or rather gaudy coloring. Over the lower 
range of table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no cover- 
ing the rough plastered walls were left bare, and the rude 
earthen floor was uncarpeted; the board was uncovered by 
a cloth, and rude massive benches supplied the place of 
chairs. 

In the center of the upper table were placed two chairs 
more elevated than the rest, for the master and mistress of 
the family who presided over the scene of hospitality, and 
from doing so, derived their ancient Saxon title of honor, 
which signifies the " dividers of bread". To each of these 



314 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

chairs was added a footstool curiously carved and inlaid 
with ivory, which mark of distinction was peculiar to them. 

—Sir Walter Scott, " Ivanhoe." 

170.— CEDRIC THE SAXON 

It appeared, from the countenance of Cedric, that he was 
of a frank but hasty and choleric disposition. He was not 
above the middle stature, but broad-shouldered, long- 
armed, and powerfully made, like one accustomed to endure 
the fatigue of war or of the chase. His face was broad, with 
large blue eyes, open and frank featured, fine teeth, and a 
well formed head, altogether expressive of that sort of good 
humor which often lodges with a sudden and hasty temper. 
Pride and jealousy there were in his eyes, for his life had been 
spent in asserting rights which were constantly liable to in- 
vasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of 
the man had been kept constantly upon the alert by the 
circumstances of his situation. His long yellow hair was 
equally divided on the top of his head and upon his brow, 
and combed down on each side to the length of his shoulders: 
it had but little tendency to gray, though Cedric was ap- 
proaching his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat 
and cuffs with what was called minever — a kind of fur in- 
ferior in quality to ermine, and formed it is believed of the 
skin of the gray squirrel. This doublet hung unbuttoned 
over a close dress of scarlet, which sat tightly to his body; 
he had breeches of the same, but they did not reach below 
the lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His 
feet had sandals of the same fashion as the peasants, but of 
finer materials and secured in front with golden clasps. He 
had bracelets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of 
the same precious metal around his neck. About his waist 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 315 

he wore a richly studded belt, in which was stuck a short 
straight, two-edged sword, with a sharp point, so disposed 
as to hang almost perpendicular by his side. 

Behind his seat was hung a scarlet cloak lined with fur, 
and a cap of the same materials richly embroidered, which 
completed the dress of the opulent landholder when he 
chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad and 
bright steel head, also reclined against the back of his chair. 
This spear served him, when he walked abroad, for the 
purposes of a staff or of a weapon as chance might require. 

—Sir Walter Scott, "Ivanhoe." 

171.— LEAR 

When Lear had grown old, he determined to divide his 
kingdom among his daughters and bestow them in marriage. 
But first, to try which of them loved him best, he deter- 
mined to ask them solemnly in order and judge the warmth 
of their affection by their answers. 

Goneril, the eldest, knowing her father's weakness, made 
answer that she loved him above her soul. The old man 
made answer that, since she so honored his declining age, he 
would give to her and her husband the third part of his 
kingdom. Regan, the second daughter, replied that she 
loved him more than all the world besides; and so received 
an equal reward with her sister. But Cordelia, the young- 
est, and hitherto the best beloved, too honest to profess in 
words more than she felt in her heart, was not moved from 
the solid purpose of a sincere and virtuous answer, and re- 
plied that she loved her father as her duty bid. 

When the old man, sorry to hear this, persisted in asking 
that she recall these words, she still restrained her expression 
so as to express rather less than more of her love. Then Lear, 
all in a passion, burst forth: " Since thou hast not rever- 



316 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

enced thy aged father like thy sisters, think not to have any 
part in my kingdom or what else I have"; — and without 
delay giving in marriage his other daughters, Goneril to the 
Duke of Albany, and Regan to the Duke of Cornwall, he 
divided his kingdom between them. Cordelia, portionless, 
married the Prince of France, who shortly after succeeded 
his father upon the throno. 

King Lear went to reside with his eldest daughter, at- 
tended only by a hundred knights. But in a short time his 
attendants, being complained of as too numerous and dis- 
orderly, were reduced to thirty. Resenting that affront, 
the old king betook himself to his second daughter; but, 
instead of soothing his wounded pride, she took part with 
her sister, and refused to admit a retinue of more than five. 
Then back Lear returned to the other, who would not now 
receive him with more than one attendant. Then the re- 
membrance of Cordelia came to his thoughts, and he took his 
journey into France to seek her, with little hope of kind con- 
sideration from one whom he had so injured, but to pay her 
the last recompense he could render — confession of his 
injustice. 

When Cordelia was informed of his approach, and of his 
sad condition, she poured forth true filial tears. And not 
willing that her own or others' eyes should see him in that 
forlorn condition, she sent one of her trusted servants to 
meet him, and to convey him privately to a comfortable 
abode, and to dress him as befitted his dignity. 

After this Cordelia, with the king, her husband, went in 
state to meet him, and after an honorable reception, the 
king permitted his wife Cordelia to go with an army and set 
her father again upon his throne. Cordelia prospered, sub- 
dued the wicked sisters and their consorts, and Lear ob- 
tained the crown and held it three years. Cordelia suc- 
ceeded him. —Thomas Bulfinch, " The Age of Chivalry." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 317 

172.— THE PRODIGAL SON 

A certain man had two sons, and the younger of them 
said to his father: " Father, give me the portion of substance 
that falleth to me." And he divided unto them his sub- 
stance. 

And not many days after, the younger son, gathering all 
together, went abroad into a far country. And there 
wasted his substance, living riotously. And after he had 
spent all, there came a mighty famine in that country; and 
he began to be in want. And he went and cleaved to one of 
the citizens of that country. And he sent him into his 
farm to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly 
with the husks the swine did eat; and no man gave unto 
him. 

And returning to himself he said: "How many hired 
servants in my father's house abound with bread and I here 
perish with hunger? I will arise and will go to my father, 
and say to him: ' Father, I have sinned against heaven and 
before thee. I am not worthy to be called thy son; make 
me as one of thy hired servants.'" 

And rising up he came to his father, and when he was yet 
a great way off, his father saw him, and was moved with 
compassion, and running to him fell upon his neck and 
kissed him. And the son said to him: "Father, I have 
sinned against heaven and before thee, I am not now worthy 
to be called thy son." And the father said to his servants: 
"Bring forth quickly the first robe, and put it on him, and 
put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and bring 
hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat and make 
merry: because this my son was dead, and is come to life 
again: was lost, and is found." And they began to be 
merry. 

Now his elder son was in the field, and when he came and 



318 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And 
he called one of the servants, and asked what these things 
meant. And he said to him: "Thy brother is come, and 
thy father has killed the fatted calf, because he hath re- 
ceived him safe." And he was angry and would not go in. 
His father therefore coming out began to entreat him. 
And he, answering, said to his father: " Behold, for so many 
years do I serve thee, and I have never transgressed thy 
commandment, and yet thou hast never given me a kid to 
make merry with my friends. But as soon as thy son is 
come, who hath devoured his substance with harlots, thou 
has killed for him the fatted calf." But he said to him: 
"Son, thou art always with me, and all I have is thine; but 
it was fit that we should make merry and be glad, for this 
thy brother was dead and is come to life again; he was lost, 
and is found.". 

— Luke, 15. 

173.— THE CLOUD 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noonday dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breasts, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve in rain, 

And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
And their great pines groan aghast; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 319 

And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 

While I sleep in the arms of the blast. 
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers, 

Lightning, my pilot, sits; 
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 

It struggles and howls at fits; 
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 

This pilot is guiding me, 
Lured by the genii that move 

In the depths of the purple sea; 
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 

Over the lakes and the plains, 
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 

The spirit he loves remains; 
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 

W'hilst he is dissolving in rain. 

The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, 

And his burning plumes outspread, 
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 

When the morning-star shines dead; 
As on the jag of a mountain crag, 

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
An eagle alit, one moment may sit, 

In the light of its golden wings. 
And when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath, 

Its ardors of rest and love, 
And the crimson pall of eve may fall 

From the depths of heaven above, 
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, 

As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, 
Whom mortals call the moon, 



320 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, 

By the midnight breezes strewn; 
And whenever the beat of her unseen feet, 

Which only the angels hear, 
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 

The stars peep behind her and peer; 
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, 

Like a swarm of golden bees, 
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 

Till the calm rivers, lakes and seas, 
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 

Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; 
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 

When whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 

Over a torrent sea, 
Sunbeam-proof I hang like a roof, 

The mountains its columns be. 
The triumphal arch through which I march 

With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 

Is the million-colored bow; 
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, 

While the moist earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of earth and water, 

And the nursling of the sky; 
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; 

I change but I cannot die. 
For after the rain, when, with never a stain, 

The pavilion of heaven is bare, 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 321 

And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, 

Build up the dome of air, 
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 

And out of the caverns of rain, 
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 

I arise and upbuild it again. 

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, " The Cloud." 

174.— THE CULPRIT FAY 

He (the fay) put his acorn helmet on; 
It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down: 
The corslet plate that guarded his breast 
Was once the wild bee's vest; 
His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, 
Was formed of the wings of the butterflies; 
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, 
Studs of gold on a ground of green; 
And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, 
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. 
Swift he bestrode his firefly steed; 
He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; 
He drove his spurs of the cockle seed, 
And away like a glance of thought he flew, 
To skim the heavens and follow far 
The fiery trail of the rocket-star. 

Oh! it was sweet in the clear moonlight, 
To tread the starry plain of even, 
To meet the thousand eyes of night, 
And feel the cooling breath of heaven! 
But the elfin made no stop or stay 
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way, 
Then he checked his courser's foot, 
And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. 



322 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



Suddenly along the snowy tide 
That swelled to meet their footstep's fall, 
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, 
Attired in sunset's crimson pall; 
Around the fay they weave the dance, 
They skim before him on the plain, 
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, 
And one upholds his bridle rein; 
With warblings wild they lead him on 
To where through the clouds of amber seen, 
Studded with stars, resplendent shone, 
The palace of the sylphid queen. 
Its spiral columns gleaming bright 
Were streamers of the northern light; 
Its curtain's light and lovely flush 
Was of the morning's rosy blush, 
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, 
The white and feathery fleece of noon. 

But oh! how fair the shape that lay 
Beneath a rainbow bending bright, 
She seemed to the entranced Fay 
The loveliest of the forms of light; 
Her mantle was the purple rolled 
At twilight in the west afar; 
'Twas tied with threads of dawning gold, 
And buttoned with a sparkling star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 
That veils the vestal planet's hue; 
Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon, 
Set floating in the welkin blue. 
Her hair is like the sunny beam, 
And the diamond gems which round it gleam 
Are the pure drops of the dewy even 
That ne'er have left their native heaven. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 323 

e She led the fay to the palace gate, 

And called the sylphs who hovered there, 
And bade them fly and bring him straight 
Of clouds condensed a sable car. 
With charm and spell she blessed it there, 
From all the fiends of the upper air; 
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, 
And tied his steed behind the cloud; 
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly 
Far to the verge of the northern sky, 
For by its wane and wavering light 
There was a star would fall to-night. 

f Borne afar on the wings of the blast, 

Northward away, he speeds him fast, 
And his courser follows the cloudy wain 
Till the hoof-strokes fall like the pattering rain. 
The clouds roll backwards as he flies, 
Each flickering star behind him lies, 
And he has reached the northern plain, 
And backed his firefly steed again, 
Ready to follow in its flight 
The streaming of its rocket-light. 

g The star is yet in the vault of heaven, 

But it rocks in the summer gale; 
And now 'tis fitful and uneven, 
And now 'tis deadly pale; 
And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur smoke, 
And quenched is its rayless beam, 
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke 
It bursts in flash and flame. 
As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance 
That the storm spirit flings from high, 



324 



TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 



The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, 
As it fell from the sheeted sky. 

As swift as the wind in its trail behind 

The elfin gallops along, 

The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, 

But the sylphid charm is strong; 

He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, 

While the cloud fiends fly from the blaze; 

He watches each flake till its sparks expire, 

And rides in the light of its rays. 

But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed, 

And caught a glimmering spark; 

Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, 

And sped through the midnight dark. 

— Joseph Rodman Drake, " The Culprit Fay. 



175.— PARADISE AND THE PERI 

One morn a Peri at the gate of 

Eden stood disconsolate, 

And as she listened to the spring 

Of life within like music flowing, 

And caught the light within upon her wings 

Through the half open portal glowing, 

She wept to think her recreant race 

Should ere have lost that glorious place. 



The glorious angel, who was keeping 

The gates of light, beheld her weeping, 

And as he nearer drew and listened 

To her sad song, a teardrop glistened 

Within his eyelids, like the spray from Eden's fountain. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 325 



" Nymph of a fair but erring line," 
Gently he said, "One hope is thine. 
Tis written in the Book of Fate 
The Peri yet may be forgiven 
Who brings to this eternal gate 
The gift that is most dear to Heaven! 
Go seek it and redeem thy sin. 
O, 'tis sweet to let the pardoned in." 

Rapidly as comets run 

To the embraces of the sun, 

Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel hands 

At those dark and daring spirits 

Who would climb the empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the Peri flew. 

But hark! the vesper call to prayer 
Is rising sweetly on the air 
From Syria's thousand minarets. 
The boy has started from his bed 
Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon the fragrant sod 
Kneels with his forehead to the South, 
Lisping the eternal name of God 
From purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while hands and eyes 
Are lifted to the glorious skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise 
Just lighted on that flowery plain 
And seeking for its home again. 

And how felt the wretched man 
Reclining there while memory ran 



326 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
Nor found one sunny resting place 
Nor brought him back one branch of peace. 
" There was a time, thou blessed child, 
When young, and haply pure as thou 
I looked and prayed — but now!" 
He hung his head, each nobler aim, 
And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
Fresh o'er him, and he wept, he wept. 

g(C) " There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down from the moon 
Falls through the withering air of June 
Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, 
So balmy a virtue — that e'en in the hour 
That drop descends, contagion dies, 
And health reanimates earth and skies. 
O, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 
Thy precious tears of repentance fall? 
Though foul thy fiery plagues within 
One heavenly drop hath dispelled them all." 

h 'Twas when the golden orb had set, 

While on their knees they lingered yet, 

There fell a light, more lovely far 

Than came from sun or star 

Upon the tear that warm and meek 

Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek. 

To mortal eye this bright light might seem 

A northern flash or meteor beam, 

But well the enraptured Peri knew 

'Twas a bright smile the angel threw 

From heaven's gate to hail that tear, 

Her harbinger of glory near, 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 327 

i(C) f "Joy! Joy! — forever — my task is done. 
The gates are passed, and heaven is won! 
To thee, sweet Eden, how dark and sad 
Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam 
And the prayer towers of Amberabad. 

"Farewell, ye odors of earth that die, 
Passing away like lover's sigh. 
My feast is now of the Tooba Tree, 
Whose scent is the breath of Eternity. 
Farewell, ye vanishing flowers that shine 
In my fairy wreath so bright and brief, 
What are the brightest that e'er have blown 
To the lote-tree springing by Alla's throne ! 
Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. 
Joy! Joy! — forever — my task is done. 
The gates are passed and heaven is won." 

— Thomas Moore, "Lalla Rookh." 

176.— THE VISION OF MIRZA 

Upon a more leisurely survey of the bridge, I found that 
it consisted of three score and ten entire arches, with sev- 
eral broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, 
made up the number to about a hundred. This bridge con- 
sisted at first of a thousand arches, but a great flood swept 
away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition in 
which I now beheld it. 

As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the pas- 
sengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide that 
flowed underneath it; and upon further examination, per- 
ceived 'there were innumerable trap-doors that lay con- 
cealed in the bridge which the passengers no sooner trod 
upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and immedi- 



328 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ately disappeared. These hidden pitfalls were set very 
thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people 
no sooner broke through the crowd, but many of them fell 
through them. They grew thinner towards the middle, 
but multiplied and lay close together towards the end of 
the arches that were entire. 

There were, indeed, some persons, but their number was 
very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the 
broken arches, but fell through one after the other, being 
quite tired and spent with so long a walk. 

I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonder- 
ful structure, and the great variety of objects which it pre- 
sented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see 
several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and 
jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them, to 
save themselves. Some were looking up towards the 
heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a 
speculation, stumbled, and fell out of sight. Multitudes 
were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in 
their eyes and danced before them; but often when they 
thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing 
failed, and down they sank. In this confusion of objects, I 
observed some with scimiters in their hands, and others who 
ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons 
on trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and 
which they might have escaped, had they not been thus 
forced upon them. 

At this stage I saw the valley opening at the further end, 
and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that has a huge 
rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and divid- 
ing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested upon 
one-half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it; 
but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with in- 
numerable islands that were covered with fruits and flowers, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 329 

and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran 
among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious 
habits, with garlands upon their heads, passing among the 
trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on 
beds of flowers, and could hear a confused harmony of sing- 
ing birds, falling waters, human voices and musical instru- 
ments. Gladness grew in me upon the perception of so 
delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that 
I might fly away to those happy seats,, but there was no 
passage to them, except through the gates of death, that I 
saw opening every moment upon the bridge. 

These islands are the mansions of good men after death, 
who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which 
they excelled, are distributed among those several islands, 
which abound with pleasures of different kinds and different 
degrees, suited to the relishes and perfections of those who 
are settled in them. Every island is a paradise, accommo- 
dated to its respective inhabitants. 

— Adapted from Joseph Addison, " Vision of Mirza." 

177.— THE STORM 

As we struggled on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from 
which this mighty wind was blowing dead on shore, its 
force became more and more terrific. Long before we saw 
the sea, its spray was on our lips, and showered salt rain upon 
us. The water was out over miles and miles of the flat 
country adjacent to Yarmouth; and every sheet and pud- 
dle lashed its banks, and had its stress of little breakers 
setting heavily towards us. When we came within sight of 
the sea, the waves on the horizon, caught at intervals above 
the rolling abyss, were like glimpses of another shore with 
towers and buildings. When at last we got into town, the 
people came out to their doors, all aslant and with stream- 



330 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

ing hair, making a wonder of the mail that had come through 
such a night. 

I put up at the old inn, and went down to look at the sea; 
staggering along the street, which was strewn with sand and 
seaweeds, and with flying blotches of sea foam; afraid of 
falling slates and tiles; and holding by people I met at 
angry corners. Coming near the beach, I saw, not only the 
boatmen, but half the people of the town, lurking behind 
buildings; some now and then braving the fury of the storm 
to look away to sea, and blown sheer out of their course in 
trying to get zigzag back. 

The tremendous sea itself, when I could find sufficient 
time to look at it, in the agitation of the blinding wind, the 
flying stones and sand, and the awful noise, confounded me. 
As the high watery walls came rolling in, and, at their high- 
est, tumbling into the surf, they looked as if the least would 
engulf the town. As the receding wave swept back with a 
hoarse roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, 
as if its purpose were to undermine the earth. When some 
white-headed billows thundered on, and dashed themselves 
to pieces before they reached the land, every fragment of the 
late whole seemed possessed by the full might of its wrath, 
and rushed to be gathered to the composition of another 
monster. Undulating hills were changed to valleys, undu- 
lating valleys (with a solitary storm bird sometimes skim- 
ming through them) were lifted up to hills, masses of water 
shivered and shook the beach with a booming sound; every 
shape tumultuously rolled on, as soon as made, to change its 
shape and place, and beat another shape and place away; 
the ideal shore on the horizon, with its towers and building, 
rose and fell; the clouds flew fast and thick; I seemed to 
see a rending and upheaving of all nature. 

— Charles Dickens, " David Copperfield." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 331 

178.— GULLIVER IS CARRIED TO LILLIPUT 

These people (the Lilliputians) are most excellent mathe- 
maticians, and arrived to a great perfection in mechanics, 
by the countenance and encouragement of the emperor, who 
is a renowned patron of learning. This prince has several 
machines fixed on wheels, for the carriage of trees and other 
great weights. He often builds his largest men-of-war, 
whereof some are nine feet long, in the woods where the 
timber grows, and has them carried on these engines three or 
four hundred yards to the sea. 

Five hundred carpenters and engineers were immediately 
set to work to prepare the greatest engine they had. It was 
a frame of wood raised three inches from the ground, about 
seven feet long, and four wide, moving upon twenty-two 
wheels. The shout I heard was upon the arrival of this 
engine, which, it seems, set out about four hours after my 
arrival. It was about parallel to me as I lay. But the 
principal difficulty was to raise and place me in this vehicle. 
Eighty poles, each one foot high, were erected for this pur- 
pose, and very strong cords, of the bigness of pack-thread, 
were fastened by hooks to many bandages, which the work- 
men had girt round my neck, my hands, my body, and my 
legs. Nine hundred of the strongest men were employed 
to draw up these cords, by many pulleys fastened on the 
poles; and thus in less than three hours, I was raised and 
slung into the engine, and there tied fast. All this I was 
told; for, while the whole operation was performing, I lay in 
a profound sleep, by the force of that soporiferous medicine 
infused into my liquor. Fifteen hundred of the emperor's 
largest horses, each about four inches and a half high, were 
employed to draw me towards the metropolis, which, as I 
said, was half a mile distant. 

About four hours after we began our journey, I awakened 



332 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

by a very ridiculous accident; for the carriage being stopped 
a while, to adjust something that was out of order, two or 
three of the young natives had the curiosity to see how I 
looked when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, 
and advancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer 
in the guards, put the sharp end of his half-pike a good way 
up into my left nostril, which tickled my nose like a straw, 
and made me sneeze violently, whereupon they stole off un- 
perceived, and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of 
my waking so suddenly. We made a long march the re- 
maining part of the day, and rested at night with five hun- 
dred guards on each side of me, half with torches and half 
with bows and arrows, ready to shoot me if I should offer to 
stir. The next morning at sunrise we continued our march, 
and arrived within two hundred yards of the city-gates 
about noon. The emperor, and all his court, came out to 
meet us; but his great officers would by no means suffer his 
majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body. 
— Jonathan Swift, " Gulliver's Travels." 

179.— ROBINSON CRUSOE DISCOVERS THE FOOTPRINTS 

It happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, 
I was exceedingly surprised with the print of a man's naked 
foot on the shore which was very plain to be seen in the sand: 
I stood like one struck, or as if I had seen an apparition; I 
listened, I looked round me, I could hear nothing, nor see 
anything; I went up to a rising ground to look farther; I 
went up the shore and down the shore, but it was all one, I 
could see no other impression but that one. I went to it 
again to see if there were any more, to observe if it might 
not be my fancy, but there was no room for that, for there 
was exactly the very print of a foot, toes, heel, and every 
part of a foot. How it came thither I knew not nor could in 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 333 

the least imagine. But after innumerable fluttering 
thoughts, like a man perfectly confused, and out of myself, 
I came home to my fortifications, not feeling, as we say, the 
ground I went on, but terrified to the last degree, looking 
behind me at every two or three steps, mistaking every bush 
or tree, and fancying every stump at a distance to be a man; 
nor is it possible to describe how many various shapes an 
affrighted imagination represented things to me in; how 
many wild ideas were formed every moment in my fancy, 
and what strange, unaccountable whimsies came into my 
thoughts by the way. 

When I came to my castle, for so I think I called it ever 
after this, I fled into it like one pursued; whether I went 
over by the ladder, or went in at the hole in the rock, 
which I called a door, I cannot remember; for never fright- 
ened hare fled to cover, or fox to earth, with more terror of 
mind than I to this retreat. 

How strange a checker-work of Providence is the life of 
man! And by what secret differing springs are the affec- 
tions hurried about as differing circumstances permit! 
To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek 
what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow 
we fear; nay even tremble at the apprehension of. This 
was exemplified in me at this time in the most lively manner 
imaginable; for I, whose only affliction was that I seemed 
banished from human society, that I was alone circum- 
scribed by the boundless ocean, cut off from mankind, and 
condemned to what I called a silent life, that I was as one 
whom Heaven thought not worthy to be numbered among 
the living, or to appear among the rest of his creatures; that 
to have seen one of my own species would have seemed to me 
a raising from death to life, and the greatest blessing that 
Heaven itself, next to the supreme blessing of salvation, 
could bestow; I say, that I should now tremble at the very 



334 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

apprehension of seeing a man, and was ready to sink into 
the ground, at but the shadow or silent appearance of a 
man's having set foot on the island! 

However, as I went down thus two or three days, and 
having seen nothing, I began to be a little bolder and to 
think there was really nothing in it but my own imagina- 
tion. But I could not persuade myself fully of this, till I 
should go down to the shore again, and see this print of a 
foot, and measure it by my own, and see if there was any 
similitude or fitness, that I might be assured it was my own 
foot. But when I came to the place first, it appeared evi- 
dent to me that when I laid up my boat I could not pos- 
sibly be on shore anywhere thereabouts. Secondly, when I 
came to measure the mark with my own foot, I found my 
own foot not so large by a great deal. Both these things 
filled my head with new imaginations, and gave me the 
vapors again to the highest degree; so that I shook with 
cold, like one in an ague; and I went home again, filled with 
the belief that man or men had been on shore there; or in 
short that the island was inhabited; and I might be sur- 
prised before I was aware; and what course to take for my 
security I knew not. Oh! what ridiculous resolutions men 
take, when possessed with fear! It deprives them of those 
means which reason offers for their relief. 

— Daniel Defoe, " Robinson Crusoe." 

180.— STORM AT SEA 

The earth was covered with a sable pall as for the burial of 
yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, with giant plumes oi 
funeral feathers, were waving sadly to and fro: all was 
hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift 
clouds that swam across the moon, and the cautious wind, 
as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stopped to 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 335 

listen, and went rustling on, and stopped again, and fol- 
lowed, like a savage on the trail. 

Whither go the clouds and wind so eagerly? If, like 
guilty spirits, they repair to some dread conference with 
powers like themselves, in what wild region do the ele- 
ments hold conference, or where unbend in terrible dis- 
cord? 

Here at sea! Free from that cramped prison called the 
earth, and out upon the wastes of water. Here, roaring, 
raging, shrieking, howling, all night long. Hither come the 
sounding voices from the caverns on the coast of that small 
island, sleeping, a thousand miles away, so quietly in the 
midst of angry waves; and hither, to meet them, rush the 
blasts from unknown desert places of the world. Here, in 
the fury of their unchecked liberty, they storm and buffet 
each other, until the sea, lashed into a passion like their 
own, leaps up, in ravings mightier than theirs, and the 
whole scene is madness. 

On, on, on, over the countless miles of angry space roll the 
long heaving billows. Mountains and caves are here, and 
yet are not; for what is now the one is now the other; then 
all is but a boiling heap of rushing waters. Pursuit and 
flight, and mad return of wave on wave, and savage strug- 
gle, ending in a spouting up of foam, that whitens the black 
night; incessant change of place, and form, and hue; con- 
stancy in nothing, but eternal strife; on, on, on, they roll, 
and darker grows the night, and louder howl the winds, and 
more clamorous and fierce become the million voices in the 
sea, when the wild cry goes forth upon the storm, "A 
ship!" 

Onward she comes, in gallant combat with the elements, 
her tall masts trembling, and her timbers starting on the 
strain; onward she comes, now high upon the curling bil- 
lows, now low down in the hollows of the sea, as hiding for 



336 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

the moment from its fury; and every strong voice in the air 
and water cries more loudly yet, " A ship! " 

Still she comes striving on; and at her boldness and the 
spreading cry, the angry waves rise up above each other's 
hoary heads to look; and round about the vessels, far as the 
mariners on her decks can pierce into the gloom, they press 
upon her, forcing each other down, and starting up, and 
rushing forward from afar, in dreadful curiosity. High over 
her they break; and round her surge and roar; and giving 
place to others, moaningly depart, and dash themselves to 
fragments in their baffled anger. Still she comes onward 
bravely. And though the eager multitude crowd thick and 
fast upon her all the night, and dawn of day discovers the 
untiring train yet bearing down upon the ship in eternity of 
troubled water, onward she comes, with dim lights burning 
in her hull, and people there, asleep; as if no deadly ele- 
ments were peering in at every seam and chink, and no 
drowned seaman's grave, with but a plank to cover it, were 
yawning in the unfathomable depths below. 

— Adapted from Charles Dickens, "Martin Chuzzlewit." 

181.— THE BURNING OF NEWGATE 

Some of the mob besieged the house on which the jailer 
had appeared, and driving in the door, brought out his 
furniture and piled it up against the prison gate to make a 
bonfire which should burn it down. When all the keeper's 
goods were flung upon this costly pile, to the last fragment, 
they smeared it with the pitch and tar and resin they had 
brought, and sprinkled it with turpentine. To all the wood- 
work around the prison wall they did the like, leaving not a 
joist or beam untouched. This infernal christening per- 
formed, they fired the pile with lighted matches and with 
blazing tow, and then stood by, awaiting the result. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 337 

Although the heat was soon so intense that the paint on 
the houses over against the prison parched and crackled up, 
and swelling into boils as it were, from excess of torture, 
broke and crumbled away; although the glass fell from the 
window sashes, and the lead and irons on the roofs blistered 
the incautious hand that touched them, and the sparrows 
in the eaves took wing, and rendered giddy by the smoke, 
fell fluttering down upon the blazing pile; still the fire was 
tended unceasingly by busy hands and around it men were 
going always. They never slackened in their zeal, or kept 
aloof, but pressed upon the flames so hard that those in 
front had much ado to save themselves from being thrust 
in; if one man swooned or dropped, a dozen struggled for his 
place, and that, although they knew the pain and thirst and 
pressure to be unendurable. Those, who fell down in faint- 
ing fits, and were not crushed or burned, were carried to an 
inn yard close at hand, and dashed with water from a pump. 
Meanwhile those who were nearest to the fire still heaped up 
the burning fragments, and raked the fire about the prison 
door. 

A shout! Another! Another yet, though few knew 
why, or what it meant. But those around the gate had 
seen it slowly yield and drop from its topmost hinge. It 
hung on that side by but one hinge, but it was upright still 
because of the bar, and of its having sunk of its own weight 
into the heap of ashes at its foot. There was now a gap at 
the top of the doorway, through which could be descried a 
gloomy passage, cavernous and dark. Pile up the fire! 

It burned fiercely. The door was red-hot, and the gap 
wider. They vainly tried to shield their faces with their 
hands, and standing as if in readiness for a spring watched 
the place. Dark figures, some crawling on their hands and 
knees, some carried in the arms of others, were seen to pass 
along the roof. It was plain the jail could hold out no 



338 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

longer. The keeper and his officers, and their wives and 
children were escaping. Pile up the fire! 
e The door sank down again: it settled deeper into the 
cinders— tottered — yielded — was down ! 

—Adapted from Charles Dickens, "Barnaby Rudge." 

182.— THE DEATH OF BILL SIKES 

a Sikes burst into the house with the lower part of his face 
buried in a handkerchief, and with another handkerchief tied 
over his head under his hat. Suddenly there came a loud 
knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur from such 
a multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldest 
quail. 

b Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none 
could exceed the cry of that infuriated throng thirsting for 
the blood of the murderer. Some shouted to those who were 
nearest to set the house on fire; others roared to the officers 
to shoot him dead. The nearest voices took up the cry, and 
hundreds echoed it. Some called for ladders, some for 
sledge-hammers; some ran with torches to and fro as if to 
seek them, and still came back and roared again; some spent 
their voices in impotent curses and execrations; some 
pressed forward with the ecstasy of madmen, and thus im- 
peded the progress of those below; some among the boldest 
attempted to climb up by the water-spout and crevices in 
the walls; and all waved to and fro, in the darkness beneath, 
like a field of corn moved by an angry wind, and joined from 
time to time in one loud furious roar. 

c "A rope," cried the murderer to his friends within the 
house, " give me a rope, a long rope. They're all in front. I 
may drop into the ditch behind the house, and clear off that 
way. Give me a rope, or I shall kill all of you and then 
myself." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 339 

The panic-stricken men pointed to where the ropes were 
kept; the murderer, hastily selecting the longest and strong- 
est cord, hurried up to the housetop. As he emerged by the 
door in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to the 
throng in front of the house, who immediately began to pour 
around, pressing upon each other in one unbroken stream. 

At the same moment Sikes was roused into new strength 
and energy by a noise within the house which announced 
that an entrance had been effected. The ditch was a risk, 
but it was his only chance. He set his foot against the stack 
of chimneys, protruding from the roof, fastened one end of 
the rope tightly and firmly around it, and with the other 
made a strong running noose. He could let himself down by 
the cord to within a less distance of the ground than his own 
height, and had his knife ready in his hand to cut it then 
and drop. 

At the very instant when he brought the loop over his 
head previous to slipping it beneath his armpits, the mur- 
derer looking behind him on the roof, threw his arms above 
his head, and uttered a yell of terror. 

Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance, 
and tumbled over the parapet. The noose was at his neck. 
It ran up with his weight, tight as a bowstring, and swift 
as the arrow that speeds. He fell for five and thirty feet. 
There was a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs; 
and there he hung, with the open knife clinched in his stiffen- 
ing hand. The old chimney quivered with the shock, but 
stood it bravely, and the murderer swung lifeless against the 
wall. —Adapted from Charles Dickens, " Oliver Twist." 

183.— JOHN TIPP 

John Tipp neither pretended to high blood, nor in good 
+ ruth cared one fig about the matter, He thought an ac- 



340 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

countant the greatest character in the world, and himself 
the greatest accountant in it. 

Yet John was not without his hobby. The fiddle relieved 
his vacant hours. He sang, certainly, with other notes than 
to the Orpheum lyre. He did, indeed, scream and scrape 
most abominably. His fine suite of official rooms in 
Threadneedle Street, which, without anything very sub- 
stantial appended to them, were enough to enlarge a man's 
notions of himself if he lived in them (I know not who is the 
occupier of them now), resounded fortnightly to the notes 
of a concert of " sweet breasts ", as our ancestors would have 
called them, culled from club-rooms and orchestra — chorus 
singers — first and second violoncellos — double bases — and 
clarionets — who ate his cold mutton, and drank his punch, 
and praised his ear. He sat like Lord Midas among them. 

But at the desk Tipp was quite another sort of character. 
Thence all ideas, that were purely ornamental, were ban- 
ished. You could not speak of anything romantic without 
rebuke. Politics were excluded. A newspaper was 
thought too refined and abstracted. The whole duty of 
man consisted in writing off dividend warrants. The strik- 
ing of the annual balance in the company's books occupied 
Tipp's days and nights for a month previous. Not that 
Tipp was blind to the deadness of things in his beloved 
house, or did not sigh for a return of the days of prosperity. 
But to a genuine accountant the difference of proceeds is as 
nothing. The fractional farthing is as dear to his heart as 
the thousands which stand before it. He is the true actor, 
who, whether his part be a prince or a peasant, must act it 
with like intensity. 

With Tipp form was everything. His life was formal. 
His actions seemed ruled with a ruler. His pen was not less 
erring than his heart. He made the best executor in the 
world: he was plagued with incessant executorships accord- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 341 

ingly, which excited his spleen and soothed his vanity in 
equal ratios. He would, swear (for Tipp swore) at the little 
orphans, whose rights he would guard with a tenacity like 
the grasp of a dying hand, that commended their interests 
to his protection. 

With all this there was about him a sort of timidity — (his 
few enemies used to give it a worse name) — a something 
which in reverence to the dead, we will place, if you please, 
a little on this side of the heroic. Nature certainly had been 
pleased to endow John Tipp with a sufficient measure of the 
principle of self-preservation. There is a cowardice which 
we do not despise, because it has nothing base or treacherous 
in its elements; it betrays itself, not you: it is mere temper- 
ament; the absence of the romantic and the enterprising; 
it sees a lion in the way, and will not, with Fortinbras, 
" greatly find quarrel in a straw", when some supposed 
honor is at stake. Tipp never mounted the box of a stage- 
coach in his life; or leaned against the rails of a balcony; or 
walked upon the ridge of a parapet; or looked down a preci- 
pice; or let off a gun; or went upon a water-party; or would 
willingly let you go if he could have helped it; neither was it 
recorded of him, that for lucre, or for intimidation, he ever 
forsook friend or principle. 

— Adapted from Charles Lamb, " Essays of Elia." 

184.— THE CHARIOT RACE 

The brazen note of the trumpet pealed forth, and the ten 
chariots dashed from their stations and raced down the 
course. In one confused mass that shook the very plain 
beneath them and sent the dust rolling in clouds over the 
amphitheater, they came. Unsparing of the lash and yelling 
like mad, in one wild desire to forge to the front, the drivers 
gave loose rein to the plunging horses. From the steeds 



342 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

themselves the white foam flew back like spray from 
the sea. 

Tightening the rein on the horse nearest the pillar and 
giving the far horse his head, they negotiated the turns in 
safety until, in the seventh dash around the end pillar, the 
Aenean's steeds became unmanageable and crashed into the 
the Lybian's chariot. In an instant the two cars went 
down, and on top of them piled six of the oncoming chariots. 
The course became a mass of mangled drivers, struggling 
horses and broken cars. 

The Athenian, quickly realizing his danger, swerved to 
the side, made the turn safely and raced down the course. 
Orestes followed his example. Until now he had been last, 
saving his steeds for the final spurt, but seeing only the 
Athenian before him he urged on his flying mares, and 
dashed after him. Side by side they drove down the 
course — now the one, now the other in the lead. 

They reached the second turn together, with Orestes 
nearest the pillar. Round they swung. Suddenly the 
wheeling horse swerved, the wheel struck the pillar, the axle 
of the chariot snapped, and Orestes fell with the wreck of his 
car. The reins, wrapped tightly around his hands, held him, 
and the terrified horses dragged his body after them. 

The audience shrieked in terror. Orestes' bravery and 

demeanor had won their hearts and it sickened them to see 

his body, now whirled in the air, now striking the ground at 

the heels of the horses. From the sides his attendants 

rushed on to the course, and caught the frightened steeds. 

Quickly the men released him from the wreckage, but so 

badly was he mangled that not even they could recognize 

him. 

■ — Adapted from Sophocles's "Electra," 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 343 

185.— A HIGHLAND EXECUTION 

The MacGregor had been called to a trysting. The Saxon 
who brought the message was kept as a hostage, and as soon 
as it was known that the MacGregor had been taken prisoner 
by treachery, the wife of the MacGregor commanded that 
the hostage exchanged for his safety should be brought into 
her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate 
wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if 
it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. 
They dragged forward at her summons a wretch already 
half dead with terror. 

He fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to 
clasp her knees, from which she drew back as if his touch 
had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the 
extremity of his humiliation was to kiss the hem of her 
plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with 
such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such that, 
instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it 
even rendered him eloquent, and with cheeks pale as ashes, 
hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking 
their last look of mortal objects, he protested with the deep- 
est oaths his total ignorance of any designs on the person of 
Rob Roy, whom he swore he loved and honored as his own 
soul. In the inconsistency of his terror, he said, that he 
was but the agent of others, and he muttered the name of 
Rashleigh. He prayed but for life — for life he would give 
all he had in the world: — it was but life he asked — life, if it 
were to be prolonged under tortures and privations; he 
asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps 
of the lowest caverns of their hills. 

It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and 
contempt, with which the wife of MacGregor regarded this 
wretched petition for the poor boon of existence. 



344 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

She gave a brief command in Gaelic to her attendants, 
two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant and hur- 
ried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. 
He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever 
uttered — I may well term them dreadful, for they haunted 
my sleep for years afterwards. As the murderers, or exe- 
cutioners, call them as you will, dragged him along, he rec- 
ognized me even in that moment of horror, and exclaimed, 
in the last articulate words I ever heard him utter, " Oh, Mr. 
Osbaldistone, save me! — save me!" 

I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, 
although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I 
did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been 
expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The 
victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large 
heavy stone in a plaid tied it around his neck, and others 
again eagerly stripped him of some parts of his dress. Half 
naked, and thus manacled, they hurled him into the lake, 
there about twelve feet deep, with a loud halloo of vindic- 
tive triumph, above which, however, his last death shriek, 
the yell of mortal agony, was distinctly heard. The heavy 
burden splashed in the dark blue waters, and the Highland- 
ers, with their poleaxes and swords, watched an instant to 
guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he 
was attached, the victim might have struggled to regain the 
shore. But the knot had been securely bound; the 
wretched man sunk without effort; the waters, which his 
fall had bestirred, settled calmly over him, and the unit of 
that life for which he had pleaded so strongly was forever 
drawn from the sum of human existence. 

—Adapted from Sir Walter Scott, "Rob Roy." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 345 

186.— OCTOBER 

The month of October in Italy is certainly a glorious sea- 
son. The sun has contracted his heat, but not his splendor; 
he is less scorching, but not less bright. As he rises in the 
morning, he dashes sparks of radiance over awakening 
nature, as an Indian Prince, upon entering his presence 
chamber, flings handsful of gems and gold into the crowd; 
and the mountains seem to stretch forth their rocky heads, 
and the woods to wave their lofty arms, in eagerness to 
catch his royal largess. And after careering through a 
cloudless sky, when he reaches his goal, and finds his bed 
spread with molten gold on the Western sea, and canopied 
above with purple clouds, edged with burnished yet airy 
fringes, more brilliant than ophir supplied to the couch of 
Solomon, he expands himself into a huge disk of most 
benignant radiance, as if to bid farewell to his past course; 
but soon sends back, after disappearing, radiant messengers 
from the world he is visiting and cheering, to remind us he 
will soon come back, and gladden us again. 

If less powerful his ray is certainly richer and more active. 
It has taken months to draw out of the sapless, shriveled 
vine stem, first green leaves, then crisp slender tendrils, and 
last little clusters of hard sour berries; and the growth has 
been provokingly slow. But now the leaves are large and 
mantling, and worthy in vine country to have a name of 
their own; and the separated little knots have swelled up 
into luxurious bunches of grapes. And of these some' are 
already assuming their bright and amber tints, while those 
which are to glow in a rich imperial purple are passing 
rapidly to it, through a changing opal hue, scarcely less 
beautiful. 

It is pleasant then to sit in a shady spot, on a hillside, and 
look ever and anon, from one's book, over the varied and 



346 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

varying landscape. For, as the breeze sweeps over the 
olives on the hillsides, and turns over their leaves, it brings 
out from them light and shade, for their two sides vary in 
sober tints; and as the suns shine or the clouds darken, on 
the vineyards, in the rounded hollows between, the brilliant 
web of unstirring vine leaves displays a yellow or browner 
shade of its delicious green. Then, mingle with these the 
innumerable other colors that tinge the picture, from the 
dark cypress, the duller ilex, the rich chestnut, the redden- 
ing orchard, the adust stubble, the melancholy pine — to 
Italy what the palm tree is to the East — towering above the 
box and the arbutus, and laurels of villas, and these scat- 
tered all over the mountains, hill, and plain, with fountains 
leaping up and cascades gliding down, porticos of glittering 
marble, statues of bronze and stone, painted fronts of rustic 
dwellings, with flowers innumerable, and patches of green- 
sward; and you have a faint idea of the attractions which 
for this month, as in our days, used to draw out the roaming 
patrician and knight from what Horace calls the clatter and 
smoke of Rome to feast his eyes upon the calmer beauties of 
the country. 

— Adapted from Nicholas Patrick Wiseman, " Fabiola." 

187.— CHARYBDIS 

a Once upon a time there was a bold young fisherman living 
on the coast of Southern Italy. One night, stormy and 
dark, he found that his father and brothers would not ven- 
ture out in their tight and strong smack; so he determined, 
in spite of every remonstrance, to go alone in the little cockle 
shell attached to it. It blew a gale, but he rowed it out in 
his tiny buoyant bark, till the sun rose, warm and bright, 
upon a placid, glassy sea. Overcome by fatigue and heat, 
he fell asleep; but after some time he was awakened by a 
loud shouting at a distance. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 347 

He looked round, and saw the family boat, the crew of 
which were crying aloud, and waving their hands to invite 
him back; but they made no effort to reach him. What 
could they want? What could they mean? He seized his 
oars, and began to pull lustily towards them; but he was 
soon amazed to find that the fishing boat, towards which he 
had turned the prow of his skiff, appeared upon his quarter; 
and soon, though he righted his craft, it was on the opposite 
side. Evidently he had been making a circle; but the end 
came with its beginning, in a spiral curve, and now he was 
commencing another and a narrower one. 

A horrible suspicion flashed upon his mind. He threw 
off his tunic, and pulled like a madman at his oars, but 
though he broke the circle a bit here and a bit there, still 
round he went, and every time nearer to the center, in which 
he could see a downward funnel of hissing and foaming 
water. Then, in despair he threw down his oars, and stand- 
ing, he flung up his arms frantically; and a sea bird scream- 
ing near heard him cry out as loud as itself, " Chary bdis!" 

And now the circle his boat went spinning round was only 
a few times longer than itself; and he cast himself flat down, 
and shut his ears and eyes with his hands, and held his 
breath, till he felt the waters gurgling above him, and he 
was whirled down into the abyss. 

— From Nicholas Patrick Wiseman, "Fabiola." 

188.— MOLL WHITE 

As I was walking with my friend Sir Roger by the side of 
one of his woods, an old woman applied herself to me for 
charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind of the follow- 
ing description in Otway: 

"In a closed land, as I pursued my journey, 
I spied a wrinkled hag, with age grown double, 



348 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to herself. 
Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red; 
Cold palsy shook her head; her hands seemed withered; 
And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped 
The tattered remnants of an old striped hanging, 
Which served to keep her carcass from the cold; 
So there was nothing of a piece about her. 
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched 
With different-colored rags, black, red, white, yellow, 
And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness." 
As I was musing on this description and comparing it with 
the object before me, the knight told me that this very old 
woman had the reputation of a witch all over the country; 
that her lips were observed to be always in motion, and that 
there was not a switch about her house which her neighbors 
did not believe had carried her several hundreds of miles. 
If she chanced. to stumble, they always found sticks or 
straws that lay in the figure of a cross before her. If she 
made any mistake at church, and cried Amen in a wrong 
place, they never failed to conclude that she was saying her 
prayers backwards. There was not a maid in the parish 
that would take a pin of her, though she should offer a bag 
of money with it. She goes by the name of Moll White, and 
has made the country ring with several imaginary exploits 
which are palmed upon her. If the dairymaid does not 
make her butter to come so soon as she would have it, Moll 
White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse sweats in 
the stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If a hare 
makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, the hunts- 
men curse Moll White. 

This account of Sir Roger raised my curiosity so far that I 
begged my friend Sir Roger to go with me into her hovel, 
which stood in a solitary corner under the side of the road. 
Upon our first entering, Sir Roger winked at me, and 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 349 

pointed to something that stood behind the door, which, 
upon my looking that way, I found to be an old broom staff. 
At the same time he whispered me in the ear to take notice of 
a tabby cat that sat in the chimney-corner, which, as the old 
knight told me, lay under as bad a report as Moll White 
herself: for besides that Moll is said often to accompany 
her in the same shape, the cat is reported to have spoken 
twice or thrice in her life and to have played several pranks 
above the capacity of an ordinary cat. 

I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so much 
wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not 
forbear smiling to hear Sir Roger, who is a little puzzled 
about the old woman, advising her, as a justice of peace, to 
avoid all communication with the devil, and never to hurt 
any of her neighbor's cattle. We concluded our visit with a 
bounty which was very acceptable. 

— Adapted from Joseph Addison, " Spectator." 

189.— POMPEII 

The eyes of the crowd in the amphitheater followed the 
gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld with dismay a vast 
vapor shooting from the summit of Vesuvius in the form of 
a gigantic pine tree; the trunk, blackness — the branches, 
fire! — a fire that shifted and wavered in its hues with every 
moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying 
red, that again blazed terrifically forth with intolerable 
glare ! 

There was a dead, heart-sunken silence, through which 
there suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which was echoed 
back from within the amphitheater by the sharper and 
fiercer yells of its fellow-beasts. Dread seers were they of 
the burden of the atmosphere, and wild prophets of the 
wrath to come! 



350 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; 
the men stared at each other but were dumb. At that mo- 
ment they felt the earth shake under their feet; the walls of 
the theater trembled; and beyond in the distance they 
heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more, and the 
mountain cloud seemed to roll toward them, dark and rapid, 
like a torrent; at the same time it cast forth from its bosom 
a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments of burning 
stone. Over the crushing vines, over the desolate streets, 
over the amphitheater itself; far and wide, with many a 
mighty splash in the agitated sea, fell that awful shower. 

The crowd thought no longer of anything save of safety. 
Each turned to fly — each dashing, pressing, crushing against 
the other. Tramping recklessly over the fallen, amid 
groans and oaths and prayers and sudden shrieks, the enor- 
mous crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous 
passages of the amphitheater. Whither should they fly? 
Some, anticipating a sudden earthquake, hastened to their 
homes to load themselves with their more costly goods and 
escape while it was yet time; others, dreading the showers 
of ashes that now fell fast, torrent upon torrent over the 
streets, rushed under the roofs of the nearest houses, or 
temples, or sheds — shelter of any kind — for protection from 
the terrors of the open air. But darker, and larger, and 
mightier, spread the cloud above them. It was a sudden 
and more ghastly night rushing upon the realm of noon. 
— Adapted from Bulwer Lytton, " Last Days of Pompeii." 

190.— A TYPEE HOUSE 

Near one side of the valley, and about midway up the 
ascent of a rather abrupt rise of ground waving with the 
richest verdure, a number of large stones were laid in suc- 
cessive courses to the height of nearly eight feet, and dis- 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 351 

posed in such a manner that their level surface corresponded 
in shape with the habitation which was perched upon it. A 
narrow space, however, was reserved in front of the dwell- 
ing, upon the summit of this pile of stones (called by the 
natives a "pi-pi"), which being inclosed by a little pocket 
of canes gave it somewhat the appearance of a veranda. 
The frame of the house was constructed of large bamboos . 
planted uprightly, and secured together at intervals by 
transverse stalks of the light wood of the hibiscus, lashed 
with thongs of bark. The rear of the tenement — built up 
with successive ranges of cocoanut boughs bound one upon 
another, with their leaflets cunningly woven together — 
inclined a little from the vertical, and extended from the 
extreme edge of the "pi-pi" to about twenty feet from its 
surface; whence the shelving roof, thatched with the long 
tapering leaves of the palmetto, sloped steeply off to within 
about five feet of the floor, leaving the eaves drooping with 
tassel-like appendages over the front of the habitation. 
This was constructed of light and elegant canes in a kind of 
open screen- work, tastefully adorned with bindings of varie- 
gated sinnate, which served to hold together its various 
parts. The sides of the house were similarly built; thus 
presenting three-quarters for the circulation of the air, while 
the whole was impervious to the rain. 

In length this picturesque building was perhaps tw r elve 
yards, while in breadth it could not have exceeded as many 
feet. So much for the exterior; which with its wire-like 
reed-twisted sides not a little reminded me of an immense 
aviary. 

Stooping a little, you passed through a narrow aperture 
in its front, and facing you on entering lay two long, per- 
fectly straight, and well-polished trunks of the cocoanut- 
tree, extending the full length of the building; one of them 
placed closely against the rear, and the other lying parallel 



352 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

with it some two yards distant, the interval between them 
being spread with a multitude of gayly worked mats, nearly 
all of a different pattern. This space formed the common 
couch and lounging-place of the natives, answering the 
purpose of a divan in Oriental countries. Here would 
they slumber through the hours of the night, and recline 
luxuriously during the greater part of the day. The re- 
mainder of the floor presented only the cool shining sur- 
faces of the large stone of which the "pi-pi" was composed. 

From the ridge-pole of the house hung suspended a num- 
ber of large packages enveloped in coarse tappa; some of 
which contained festival dresses, and various other matters 
of the wardrobe, held in high estimation. These were easily 
accessible by means of a line, which, passing over the ridge- 
pole, had one end attached to a bundle; while by the other, 
which led to the side of the dwelling and was there secured, 
the package could be lowered or elevated at pleasure. 

Against the farther wall of the house were arranged in 
tasteful figures a variety of spears and javelins, and other 
implements of savage warfare. Outside of the habitation, 
and built upon the piazza-like area in its front, was a little 
shed used as a sort of larder or pantry, and in which were 
stored various articles of domestic use and convenience. 
A few yards from the " pi-pi " was a large shed built of cocoa- 
nut boughs, where the process of preparing the "poee-poee" 
was carried on and all culinary operations attended to. 

— Herman Melville, "Typee." 

191.— A PROSPECT 

Let us sit down upon the top of this fair hill. The clear 
sunshine and the bright air flow into us in streams of life and 
gladness, while our thoughts are lifted up to God, and our 
hearts quietly expand to love. Beneath us is that beautiful 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 353 

rolling plain, with its dark masses of summer foliage sleep- 
ing in the sun for miles and miles away, in the varying 
shades of blue and green, according to the distance of the 
clouds. 

b There at our feet is the gigantic city, gleaming with an 
ivory whiteness beneath its uplifted but perpetual canopy 
of smoke. The villa-spotted hills beyond it, its almost 
countless spires, its one huge many-steepled palace, and its 
solemn presiding dome, its old bleached tower and its 
squares of crowded shipping — it all lies below us in the pecu- 
liar sunshine of its own misty magnificence. There, in 
every variety of joy and misery, of elevation and depression, 
three million souls are working out their complicated 
destinies. 

c Close around us the air is filled with the songs of rejoicing 
birds, or the pleased hum of the insects that are drinking 
the sunbeams, and blowing their tiny trumpets as they 
weave and unweave their mazy dance. The flowers breathe 
sweetly, and the leaves of the glossy shrubs are spotted with 
bright creatures in painted surcoats or gilded panoply, while 
the blue dome above seems both taller and bluer than com- 
mon, and is ringing with the loud peals of the unseen larks, 
as the steeples of the city ring for the nation's victory. 

d Far off from the river-flat comes the booming of the 
cannon, and here all unstartled, round and round the pond, 
a fleet of young perch are sailing in the sun, slowly and un- 
disturbedly as if they had a very grave enjoyment of their 
little lives. What a mingled scene it is of God and man! 
— Frederick William Faber, " Creator and Creature." 

192.— HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE 

a Hector hastened from his house down the well-built 
streets of Troy. When he had passed through the great 



354 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

city and had come to Scaean gates through which he in- 
tended to issue on the plain, his dear wife, Andromache, 
daughter of great-hearted Eetion, came running to meet 
him. With her went the handmaid carrying on her bosom 
the little child, the tender boy, Hector's beloved son, beau- 
tiful as a star. 

Hector smiled, and gazed at his boy silently; and Andro- 
mache stood by the side of her husband weeping, and 
clasped her hand in his and called him by name as she said: 

"Dear Lord, your hardihood will undo thee. You have 
no pity on your infant boy, nor on me, hapless me, that shall 
soon be a widow; for the Achaeans will all set upon you and 
slay you. It were better for me to be dead than to lose you; 
for never more will I be comforted, if you shall meet with 
death, but will live only to weep. I have no father nor 
mother: my father was slain by goodly Achilles when he 
wasted the populous city of the Cilicians, Thebe of the high 
gates. And the selfsame day my seven brothers went into 
the house of Hades; for fleet-footed, goodly Achilles slew 
all of them among their slow-going cattle and white-fleeced 
sheep. My mother, too, he brought hither a captive, but 
afterwards for an untold ransom he set her free and now 
she, too, is dead, smitten in the home of her father by the 
archer Artemis. So you, Hector, are to me father and 
mother, yea, and brother, even as you are my husband. 
Come, now, have pity and abide here, lest you make your 
child an orphan and me a widow.' ' 

Then Hector of the glancing plume answered her: 

"My wife, I have thought of all these things, but I would 
be sorely ashamed of the Trojans, men and women, if like a 
coward I were to shrink away from battle. I have learned 
ever to be valiant and to fight in the forefront of the Trojans 
for my father's glory and my own, and my soul forbids me 
^now to shrink from battle." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 355 

e(C) So Hector spoke, and stretched out his arms to take his 

babe. But the child shrunk back, crying on the bosom of 
his nurse, for he was frightened at his father's appearance, 
and dreaded the bronze and horsehair crest which nodded so 
fiercely from the top of his father's helmet. Hector laughed 
aloud at the child's fear, and so did Andromache. Forth- 
with Hector took the helmet from his head, and laid it upon 
the earth; then he kissed the boy, and dandled him in his 
arms, and prayed to Zeus and to all the gods: " Zeus and 
all ye gods, grant that this, my son, may like myself be pre- 
eminent among the Trojans, valiant in might, a great King 
of Troy. Then may men say of him, ' He is far greater than 
his father.'" 

f (C) f So spoke Hector, and he laid his son in the arms of the well- 
beloved Andromache, and she took the child to her bosom, 
smiling tearfully! Her husband in pity caressed her and 
spoke to her and called her by name: 

"Dear one, I pray thee be not over-sad. But go to our 
home, and see to your tasks. For men shall provide for the 
. war. And I am chief of all the men that dwell in Troy." 

g(C) So glorious Hector spoke, and took up his horsehair 
crested helmet; and his well-beloved wife went on her way 
homeward, often looking backward, and letting fall big 
tears. Soon she came to the splendid mansion of the great 
warrior Hector, and found therein her many handmaidens, 
and set them all a-weeping. So while Hector yet lived, 
those of his household bewailed him, for they felt that he 
would not come back again from battle nor escape from the 
mad hands of the Achaeans. 

— Adapted from Homer, " Iliad." 



356 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

193— THE SNOWSTORM. 

In the night such a storm of snow began, as never had 
been heard nor read of. At bedtime the wind was moaning 
sadly, and the sky as dark as a wood, and the straw in the 
yard swirling round and round, and the cows huddling into 
the great cow-house, with their chins upon one another. 

In the bitter morning an odd white light was on the rafters, 
such as had never been seen before; while all the length of 
the room was grizzly, like the heart of a moldy oat-rick. 
Half the lattice of the window was quite blocked up, as if 
plastered with gray lime; and little fringes, like ferns, came 
through, where the joining of the lead was; and in the only 
undarkened part countless dots came swarming, clustering, 
beating with a soft low sound, then gliding down in a slip- 
pery manner, not as drops of rain do, but each distinct from 
his neighbor. Inside the iron frame (which fitted, not to 
say too comfortably, and went along the stonework), at 
least a peck of snow had entered, following its own bent and 
fancy, light as any cobweb. When the lattice was spread 
open, all the earth lay there flat with snow, all the air was 
thick with snow; more than this no man could see, for all 
the world was snowing. 

It must have snowed most wonderfully to have made 
that depth of covering in about eight hours. And there it 
was, blocking up the doors, stopping the ways and water- 
courses, and making it very much worse to walk than in a 
saw-pit newly used. For all this time it was snowing harder 
than it ever had snowed before, so far as a man might guess 
it; and the leaden depth of the sky came down, like a mine 
turned upside down. 

In one corner of the field, by the eastern end, was a great 
white billow as high as a barn and as broad as a house. This 
great drift was rolling and curling beneath the violent blast, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 357 

tufting and combing with rustling swirls, and carved, as in 
patterns of a cornice, where the grooving chisel of the wind 
swept round. Ever and again the tempest snatched little 
whiffs from the channeled edges, twirled them around and 
made them dance over the chine of the monster pile, then 
let them lie like herring-bones, or the seams of sand where 
the tide has been. And all the while from the smothering 
sky, more and more fiercely at every blast, came the pelting, 
pitiless arrows, winged with murky white and painted with 
barbs of frost. 

That great snow never ceased a moment for three days 
and nights and then, when all the world was filled, and the 
topmost hedges were unseen and the trees broke down with 
weight, the sun burst forth at last upon that world of white. 
What he brought was neither warmth nor cheer, nor hope of 
softening; only a clearer shaft of cold, from the violent 
depths of the sky. Broad, white curtains of the frost-fog 
hung round the lower sky, on the verge of hill and valley, 
and above the laden trees. Only round the sun himself, and 
the spot of heaven he claimed, clustered a bright purple- 
blue, clear, and calm, and deep. 

That night such a frost ensued as we had never dreamed 
of, neither read in ancient books or histories of Frobisher. 
Then I heard that fearful sound which never I had heard 
before, neither since have heard, the sharp yet solemn sound 
of trees burst open by the frost below. 

— Adapted from Richard D. Blackmore, " Lorna Doone." 

194.— THE SON OF THE SUN 

Epaphus discredited the boast of Phaethon that he was 
the son of the Sun. Phaethon went in rage and shame, and 
reported this to his mother Clymene. Clymene sent him to 
his father, Phoebus, to demand of him the proof of his 
nativity. 



358 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

As soon as Phaethon explained to his father, Phoebus, the 
reason of his visit to the palace of the Sun, Phoebus de- 
clared that whatever the boy asked would be his. Phaethon 
immediately asked to be permitted to drive the chariot of 
the Sun for one day. The father repented of his promise. 
He declared it was not a safe boon for Phaethon to ask, and 
begged him to reconsider his request, and ended his prayer 
with the warning words: "None but myself may drive the 
flaming car of day; not even Jupiter, whose terrible right 
arm hurls the thunderbolt s." But Phaethon was obdurate. 
He rejected all admonition, and Phoebus, after resisting as 
long as he could, at last led the way to the lofty chariot. 

It was of gold, the gift of Vulcan; the axle was of gold, 
the pole and wheels of gold, the spokes of silver. Along the 
seat were rows of chrysolites and diamonds. While the 
daring youth gazed in admiration, rosy-fingered Dawn 
threw open the purple doors of the east, and showed the 
pathway strewn with roses. The stars withdrew, mar- 
shaled by the day-star, which last of all retired also. 
Phoebus, when he saw the earth beginning to glow, and the 
Moon preparing to retire, ordered the Hours to harness the 
horses. They obeyed, and led forth from the lofty stalls 
the steeds full fed with ambrosia, and attached the reins. 
Then Phoebus bathed the face of Phaethon with a powerful 
unguent which made him capable of enduring the brightness 
of the flame. He gave the youth a parting word of advice, 
and stood back. 

The agile youth sprang into the chariot, stood erect, and 
grasped the reins with delight. The horses filled the air 
with their snortings and their fiery breath, and stamped the 
ground underneath. The bars were let down, and the 
boundless plain of the universe lay before them. They 
darted forward, and cleaved the opposing clouds, and out- 
ran the morning breezes which started with them from the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 359 

eastern goal. The steeds soon perceived that the load they 
drew was lighter than usual; and as a ship without ballast 
is tossed hither and thither on the sea, so the chariot, with- 
out its accustomed weight, was dashed about as if empty. 
The steeds rushed headlong and left the beaten road. 

Hapless Phaethon looked below, and beheld the world on 
fire, and felt the heat intolerable. The air he breathed was 
like the breath of a furnace, and was full of burning ashes, 
and the smoke was a pitchy black. He dashed forward he 
knew not whither. Then it was that the people of Ethiopia 
became black, and that the Lybian desert was dried up. 
The nymphs of the fountains with disheveled hair mourned 
their waters, and the rivers hid themselves. The earth 
cracked open, and through the chinks light broke into Tar- 
tarus, and frightened the King of shadows and his Queen. 
The sea shrank up. The mountains that lay beneath the 
waves lifted up their heads. Thrice Neptune assayed to 
raise his head above the surface, and thrice was driven back 
by the heat. Earth, surrounded as she was by waters, yet 
with head and shoulders bare, screening her face with her 
hand, looked up to heaven, and with a husky voice called on 
Jupiter for help. 

Jupiter mounted the lofty tower whence he diffuses clouds 
over the earth and hurls the forked lightning. But at that 
time not a cloud was to be found to interpose for a screen to 
earth, nor was a shower remaining unexhausted. Jupiter 
thundered, and brandishing a lightning bolt in his right 
hand, launched it against the charioteer, and struck him at 
the same moment from his seat and from existence. 
Phaethon, with his hair on fire, fell headlong, like a shooting 
star, and Eridanus, the great river, received him and cooled 
his burning frame. His sisters, the Heliades, lamented his 
fate, and were turned into poplar trees on the bank of the 
river. — Adapted from Thomas Bulfinch, " Age of Fable." 



360 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

195.— THE PUNISHMENT OF THE IMPIOUS 

Wilherm Postik cared only for forbidden pleasures, 
danced during church-time when he could, and drank during 
Mass with beggarly horse jockeys. God had not failed to 
send him warning. In one year he had seen an ill wind 
strike his mother, his sisters, and his wife; but he had con- 
soled himself for their death by inheriting their property. 

Now it happened in that time that the fine days came to 
an end, and the feast of the dead arrived. All the peasants 
put on their mourning garments, and went to the church to 
pray for the dead; but Wilherm dressed himself in his best, 
— and took the road to the neighboring town. 

All the time the others spent in praying for the souls in 
Purgatory, he passed drinking brandy with sailors, and 
singing coarse songs. He did this until nearly midnight and 
left the inn the last one of the revelers, as steady and active 
as when he had entered. 

But his heart was hot with drink. He sang aloud along 
the road, songs which usually the boldest would only whis- 
per. He passed the crucifixes without lowering his voice 
or lifting his hat; and he struck the thickets of broom with 
his stick right and left, without fear of wounding the souls 
which filled the ways upon that day. 

Now the night was moonless; the wind rattled down .the 
leaves, the springs rolled sadly along the banks, the bushes 
shivered like a man in fear; and in the silence, Wilherm's 
steps sounded like those of giants: but nothing frightened 
him, and he kept on. 

At last he entered the haunted valley. Midnight sounded 
from three parishes. Wilherm began to whistle, and as he 
whistled, he heard the sound of a cart, and saw it coming 
towards him covered with a pall. 

Wilherm recognized the hearse. It was drawn by six 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 361 

black horses, and driven by the Phantom of Death, who 
held an iron whip and repeated ceaselessly: 

"Turn aside, or I will overturn you." 

"What are you doing here, Paleface?" Wilherm de- 
manded boldly. 

"I am seeking Wilherm Postik," answered the Phantom, 
. passing by. 

The merry Wilherm burst out laughing and went on. As 
he reached the little hedge of blackthorn which led to the 
washing place he saw the washerwomen of night pounding 
their grave clothes with their wooden beetles, and he asked 
the ghostly creatures what they were washing. They 
answered him: 

"The shroud of a dead man who still talks and walks." 
i Wilherm laughed loudly. His voice rang out like a 
defiance, and the women ran up to him, offering him their 
winding sheets and asking him to wring them. 
j He set down his stick, and took the end of a shroud which 
one of the dead women offered him; being careful to twist 
the same way she did, having learned from old people that 
thus only could he escape being broken to pieces. 

But as the shroud was thus turning, behold, the other 
washerwomen surrounded Wilherm; and he recognized his 
aunt, his wife, his mother, and his sisters. They all cried, 
"A thousand curses on him who lets his people burn in 
Purgatory! A thousand curses!" And they shook their 
thin hair, lifting their white beetles; and from all the wash- 
ing places of the valley, from the moors above, from all the 
hedges, voices repeated, "A thousand curses! A thousand 
. curses!" 

1 Wilherm, frightened out of his wits, felt his hair standing 
up on his head. In his dismay, he forgot the precaution he 
had taken until then and began to wring the other way. At 
the very same instant, the shroud pressed his hands like a 



362 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

vise, and he fell crushed by the iron arms of the washer- 
women. — And the next day Wilherm's dead body was found 
stretched on the blue stones. 

— Adapted from Emile Souvestre, " La Foyer Breton." 

196.— DON QUIXOTE AND THE WINDMILLS 

a(C) At this point Don Quixote and Sancho Panza came in 
sight of thirty or forty windmills, and as soon as Don Quix- 
ote saw them, he said to his squire, Sancho: "Fortune is 
arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped 
our desires ourselves; for look there, friend Sancho Panza, 
where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, 
all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with 
whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes; for this is 
a righteous warfare, and it is God's good service to sweep so 
evil a brood from off the earth/ ' 
b(C) f "What giants?" said Sancho Panza. 

"Those thou seest there," answered his master, "with 
the long arms; and some have arms nearly two leagues 
long." 

"Look, Your Worship," said Sancho; "what we see there 
are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be their 
arms are the sails that, when turned by the wind, make the 
millstones go." 

"It is easy to see," replied Don Quixote, "that thou art 

not used to this business of adventures; those are giants; 

and if thou art afraid, away with thee out of this and betake 

thyself to prayer, while I engage them in fierce and unequal 

. combat." 

So saying, he gave spur to his steed Rosinante, heedless 
of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him 
that most certainly they were windmills and not giants he 
was going to attack. He, however, was so positive they 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 363 

were giants that he neither heard the words of Sancho, nor 
perceived, near as he was, what they were; but made at 
them, shouting, "Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for it is 
a single knight that attacks you!" 

d A slight breeze at this moment sprang up and the great 
sails began to move; seeing which Don Quixote exclaimed, 
"Though ye flourish more arms than the giant Briareus, ye 
have to reckon with me." 

e So saying, and commending himself with all his heart to 
his lad}^ Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a 
peril, with lance in rest and covered by his buckler, he 
charged at Rosinante's fullest gallop, and fell upon the first 
mill that stood in front of him; but as he drove his lance- 
point into the sail, the winds whirled it round with such 
force that it shivered the lance to pieces, sweeping with it 
horse and rider, who went rolling over on the plain in a sorry 
condition. Sancho hastened to his master's assistance as 
fast as his ass would go, and when he came up found him 
unable to move — with such a shock had Rosinante fallen 
with him. 
f(C) " God bless me!" said Sancho, "did I not tell Your Wor- 
ship to mind what you were about, for they were only wind- 
mills; and no one could have made any mistake about it 
but one who had something of the same kind in his head." 
g(C) "Hush, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "the for- 

tunes of war more than any other are liable to frequent 
fluctuations; and moreover I think, and it is the truth, that 
that same sage Friston, who carried off my study and books, 
has turned these giants into mills in order to rob me of the 
glory of vanquishing them — such is the enmity he bears me; 
but in the end his wicked arts will avail but little against 
my good sword." 

h "God order it as he may," said Sancho Panza; and help- 
ing him to rise got him up again on Rosinante, whose 



364 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

shoulder was half out; and then, discussing the late adven- 
ture, they followed the road to Puerto Lapice, for there, said 
Don Quixote, they could not fail to find adventures in 
abundance and variety, as it was a great thoroughfare. 
— Adapted from Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, " Don Quixote/' 

197.— THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE 

a An honest, plain, sensible Country Mouse is said to have 
entertained at his hole one day a fine Mouse of the Town. 
Having formerly been playfellows together, they were old 
acquaintances, which served as an apology for the visit. 
However, as master of the house, the Country Mouse thought 
himself obliged to do the honors of it in all respects, and to 
make as great a stranger of his guest as he possibly could. 
In order to do this he set before him a reserve of delicate 
gray pease and bacon, a dish of fine oatmeal, some parings of 
new cheese, and to crown all with a dessert, a remnant of a 
charming mellow apple. In good manners, he forbore to 
eat any himself, lest the stranger should not have enough, 
but that he might seem to bear the other company sat and 
nibbled a piece of wheaten straw very busily. 
At last, says the spark of the town: 
b(C) "Old crony, give me leave to be a little free with you: 
how can you bear to live in this nasty, dirty, melancholy 
hole here, with nothing but woods, and meadows, and rivu- 
lets about you? Do you not prefer the conversation of the 
world to the chirping of birds, and the splendor of a court 
to the rude aspect of an uncultivated desert? Come, take 
my word for it, you will find it a change for the better. 
Never stand considering, but away this moment. Remem- 
ber, we are not immortal, and therefore have no time to 
lose. Make sure of to-day, and spend it as agreeably as you 
can: you know not what may happen to-morrow. " 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 365 

In short, these and such like arguments prevailed, and the 
Country Mouse was resolved to go to town that night. So 
they both set out upon their journey together, proposing to 
sneak in after the close of the evening. They did so; and 
about midnight made their entry into a certain great house, 
where there had been an extraordinary entertainment the 
day before, and several tidbits, which some of the servants 
had purloined, were hid under a window seat. 

The country guest was immediately placed in the midst 
of a rich Persian carpet: and now it was the courtier's turn 
to entertain; who indeed acquitted himself in that capacity 
with the utmost readiness and address, changing the 
courses as elegantly, and tasting everything first as judi- 
ciously, as any clerk of the kitchen. The other sat and en- 
joyed himself like a delighted epicure, tickled to the last 
degree with this new turn of his affairs; when, on a sudden, 
a noise of somebody opening the door made them start from 
their seats, and scuttle in confusion about the dining room. 
Our country friend, in particular, was ready to die with fear 
at the barking of a huge mastiff or two, which opened their 
throats about just the same time and made the whole house 
echo. At last, recovering himself, he said: 

" Well, if this be your town life, much good may it do you. 
Give me my poor, quiet hole again, with my homely but 
comfortably gray pease. " 

—From ^sop, "Fables." 

198.— THE MINOTAUR 

In a war between the city of Athens and the Island of 
Crete the Athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for 
peace. No peace could they obtain except on condition 
that they should send seven young men and seven maidens 
every year to be devoured by the Minotaur, the pet monster 



366 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

of the cruel King Minos. When Theseus, the Prince of 
Athens, heard this story, he determined that he himself 
would be the seventh of the young men chosen for sacrifice, 
and would destroy the Minotaur. 

When Prince Theseus and his companions arrived at 
Crete, Ariadne, the daughter of the cruel Minos, was touched 
at their plight. Just before midnight the door of their 
prison was unbarred, and the gentle Ariadne, with a torch 
in her hand, showed herself. She called for Prince Theseus, 
and led him from the prison to the labyrinth in the very 
center of which the Minotaur lived. 

Just as they reached the labyrinth, they heard a rough 
and very disagreeable roar which greatly resembled the low- 
ing of a fierce bull, yet had some resemblance to the human 
voice. Theseus even fancied a rude articulation in it, as if 
the creature that uttered it were trying to fashion his hoarse 
breath into words. It was at some distance, however, and 
he really could not tell whether it sounded most like a bull's 
roar or a man's harsh voice. 

Theseus did not hesitate long. He passed onward, and 
in a short time came to an open space in the very center of 
the labyrinth where he discerned the hideous Minotaur. 
What an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head be- 
longed to a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like 
a bull all over, preposterously waddling on his hind legs; 
or if you happened to view him in another way, he seemed 
wholly a man, and all the more monstrous for being so. 
Theseus hated him, and shuddered at him, and yet could 
not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the more, 
the uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he 
kept striding to and fro, in a solitary frenzy of rage, continu- 
ally emitting a hoarse roar which was oddly mixed up with 
half-shaped words. After listening a while, Theseus under 
stood that the Minotaur was saying to himself, how miser 



a 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 367 

able he was, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody, 
and how he longed to eat up the human race alive. 

Theseus soon knew that he meant what he was saying, 
for almost instantly there ensued the most awful fight be- 
tween Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened be- 
neath the sun or moon. I really know not how it might 
have turned out if the monster, in his first headlong rush 
against Theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's breadth, 
and broken one of his horns short off against the stone wall. 
On this mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of 
the labyrinth tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of 
Crete mistook the noise for an uncommonly heavy thunder- 
storm. Smarting with the pain he galloped around the 
open space in so ridiculous a way that Theseus laughed at it, 
long afterwards, though not precisely at the moment. For 
the two antagonists soon stood valiantly up to one an- 
other, and fought, sword to horn, for a long while. At last 
the Minotaur made a run at Theseus, grazed his left side 
with his horn and flung him down; and thinking that he 
had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in the air, 
opened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap 
his head off. But Theseus by this time had leaped up, and 
caught the monster off his guard. Fetching a sword stroke 
at him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck, and 
made his bull head skip six yards from his human body, 
which fell down flat upon the ground. 

So the battle ended, and so was Athens freed from the 
yearly tribute of brave youths and fair maidens. 

— Adapted from Nathaniel Hawthorne, " Tanglewood Tales." 

199.— LITERARY POACHERS 

Whilst I was indulging in these rambling fancies in the 
old library, I fell into a doze. I dreamt that the chamber 



368 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

was still decorated with the portraits of ancient authors, but 
the number was increased. The long tables had disap- 
peared, and in place of the sage magi I beheld a ragged 
threadbare throng, such as may be seen plying about the 
great depository of cast-off clothes, Monmouth Street. 
Whenever they seized upon a book, methought it turned 
into a garment of foreign or antique fashion, with which 
they proceeded to equip themselves. I noticed, however, 
that no one pretended to clothe himself from any particular 
suit, but took a sleeve from one, a cape from another, a 
skirt from a third, thus decking himself out piecemeal, while 
some of his original rags peeped out from among the bor- 
rowed finery. 

There was a portly, rosy, well-fed person, whom I ob- 
served ogling several moldy polemical writers through an 
eyeglass. He soon contrived to slip on the voluminous 
mantle of one of the old fathers, and having purloined the 
gray beard of another, endeavored to look exceedingly 
wise; but the smirking commonplace of his countenance 
set at naught all the trappings of wisdom. One sickly 
looking gentleman was busy embroidering a very flimsy 
garment with gold thread drawn out of several old court 
dresses of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Another had 
trimmed himself magnificently from an illuminated manu- 
script, and having put Sir Philip Sidney's hat on one side 
of his head strutted off with an exquisite air of vulgar ele- 
gance. A third, who was but of puny dimensions, had 
bolstered himself out bravely with the spoils from several 
obscure tracts of philosophy, so that he had a very imposing 
front, but he was lamentably tattered in rear, and I per- 
ceived that he had patched his small clothes with scraps of 
parchment from a Latin author. 

There were some well-dressed gentlemen, who only 
helped themselves to a gem or so which sparkled among 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 369 

their own ornaments, without eclipsing them. Some, too, 
seemed to contemplate the costumes of the old writers, 
merely to imbibe their principles of taste and to catch their 
air and spirit; but I grieve to say that too many were apt 
to array themselves, from top to toe, in the patchwork 
manner I have mentioned. 

In the midst of this literary masquerade, a cry suddenly 
resounded from every side of " thieves ! thieves ! ' ' I looked, 
and lo! the portraits about the walls became animated! 
The old authors thrust out first a hand, then a shoulder, 
from the canvas, looked down curiously, for an instant, upon 
the motley throng, and then descended, with fury in their 
eyes, to claim their rifled property. The scene of scamper- 
ing and hubbub that ensued baffles all description. The 
unhappy culprits endeavored in vain to escape with their 
plunder. On one side might be seen half-a-dozen old 
monks, stripping a modern professor; on another, there was 
sad devastation carried into the ranks of modern dramatic 
writers. Beaumont and Fletcher, side by side, raged round 
the field like Castor and Pollux, and sturdy Ben Jonson 
enacted more wonders than when a volunteer with the 
army in Flanders. As to the dapper little compiler of far- 
ragos, mentioned some time since, he had arrayed himself 
in as many patches and colors as Harlequin, and there was 
as fierce a contention of claimants about him as about the 
dead body of Patroclus. Just then my eye was caught by 
a pragmatical old gentleman in a Greek wig, who was 
scrambling away in sore affright with half a score of authors 
in full cry after him. They were close upon his haunches; 
in a twinkling off went his wig; at every turn some strip of 
raiment was peeled away; until in a few moments, from his 
domineering pomp, he shrank into a little pursy, " chopp'd 
bald shot/' and made his exit with only a few tags and rags 
fluttering at his back. 



d(C) 



370 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

There was something so ludicrous in the catastrophe of 
this learned Theban, that I burst into an immoderate fit of 
laughter, which broke the whole illusion. The tumult and 
the scuffle were at an end. The chamber resumed its usual 
appearance. — I was awake. 

— Adapted from Washington Irving, " Sketch Book." 

200.— POUND OF FLESH 

Shylock, the Jew, was a usurer, who lived at Venice, and 
had amassed an immense fortune by lending money a.t great 
interest to Christian merchants. Antonio was a very rich 
young merchant and most generous. He was greatly be- 
loved by all his fellow-citizens; but the friend who was 
nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio. 

Now Bassanio, being rather poor, wished to marry a cer- 
tain wealthy and noble heiress named Portia; but not having 
money to furnish himself with an appearance befitting the 
lover of so rich a lady, he besought Antonio to lend him 
three thousand ducats. 

Antonio had no money just then, but expecting soon to 
have ships come home laden with merchandise, he said he 
would borrow the money from Shylock upon the credit of 
those ships. 

Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock. But 
Shylock thought within himself, "If I can once catch him on 
the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him," for he 
hated Antonio and wished to destroy him. "Antonio," 
said the Jew, "I will forget the shame you have put upon 
me. I will supply your wants, and take no interest for my 
money. Come, then, to a lawyer, and sign — only in sport 
mind you — a bond that, if you do not repay the money by 
a certain day, you shall forfeit a pound of flesh to be cut off 
from any part of your body that shall please me." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 371 

"Content," said Antonio, "I will sign this bond, and say 
there is much kindness in the Jew." 

Alas, the very day on which Bassanio and Portia were 
married, a letter came from Antonio the words of which 
were, "Sweet Bassanio, my ships are all lost, my bond to 
the Jew is forfeited, and since I must die in paying it, I 
could wish to see you at my death." "Oh, my dear love," 
said Portia, "you shall have gold to pay the money twenty 
times over, before this kind friend shall lose a hair by my 
Bassanio's fault." 

The day of the payment being past, the cruel Jew would 
not accept of the money which Bassanio offered him, but 
insisted on having a pound of Antonio's flesh. A day was 
appointed to try this shocking cause before the Duke of 
Venice, and Bassanio awaited in dreadful suspense the 
event of the trial. 

Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in men's 
apparel, and putting on the robes of a counselor, they set 
out immediately and arrived at Venice on the very day of 
the trial. 

All were assembled to hear the cause, when Portia entered 
the court and presented to the duke a letter from Bellario, 
Antonio's counselor, recommending this young doctor, 
Balthasar (so he called Portia), to plead the cause in his 
stead. This the duke granted, and the trial began. 

First of all Portia addressed herself to Shylock, and al- 
lowing that he had a right by Venetian law to have the 
forfeit expressed in the bond, she spoke so sweetly of the 
noble quality of mercy as would have softened any heart 
but the unfeeling Shylock's. 

"Is he not able to pay the money?" asked Portia. Bas- 
sanio then offered the three thousand ducats to the Jew, 
but he refused; and when Portia said the law could not be 
changed, Shylock cried out, "A Daniel is come to the judg- 



372 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

ment! O, wise young judge, how I do honor you! " Portia 
looked at the bond once more, then asked if the scales were 
ready to weigh the pound of flesh. The Jew at the same 
time began to sharpen his long knife, and looking eagerly 
on Antonio said, "Come, prepare! " 
k(C) "Tarry a little, Jew," said Portia. "There is something 
else. This bond here gives you no drop of blood; the words 
expressly are — 'A pound of flesh/ If in cutting off the 
pound of flesh, you shed one drop of Christian blood your 
land and goods are by the law to be confiscated to the state 
of Venice." Now as it was utterly impossible for Shylock 
to cut off the pound of flesh without shedding some of An- 
tonio's blood, Portia by this wise discovery had saved the 
life of Antonio; and all admiring the wonderful sagacity of 
the young counselor, plaudits resounded from every part of 
the senate-house; and Bassanio exclaimed in the words 
which Shylock had used, "O, wise and upright judge! 
Mark, Jew, a Daniel is come to judgment!" 

— Adapted from Charles Lamb, " Stories from Shakespeare." 



ORIGINAL COMPOSITION 



ORIGINAL COMPOSITION 



A FOREWORD TO THE TEACHER 

Composition is creation. In the lower forms of composi- 
tion this creation has, speaking broadly, three degrees. 
The man who, after witnessing a scene or incident, de- 
scribes the one or narrates the other just as it occurred, 
shows himself possessed of the first and lowest degree of the 
power of creation. He has introduced no new detail into 
his picture of the scene or into his narrative of the fact. 
All that he tells already existed, but he has a right to the 
title of creator, inasmuch as his expression of the fact or 
scene once did not, and now does exist — and this existence 
is due to him. A writer may go further in creation. He 
may gather isolated details, and combine them into one 
description or one narration. The separate details exist. 
The writer is not their creator. The combination of them 
had no existence before the writer began to work. The 
writer is the creator of the combination. This is the second 
degree of the power of composition — the combination in one 
description or narration of details which exist separately, 
but do not exist in combination outside of the description or 
narrative. There is a still higher grade of creation. In 
this the writer not only combines details which exist sep- 
arately, but even creates the details. This degree of crea- 
tion shows itself in metaphors and allegories, and, indeed, 
in all figurative forms of expression. No one ever saw a lily 



376 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

that was a cradle, or a cradle that was a lily. The poet 
creates the very idea when he says: 
"The golden bee 
Is lily-cradled." 
Again no one ever saw Death; much less did any one ever 
see Death in human shape as a reaper. It was for the poet 
to create both the details and the arrangement in this 
picture : 

"There is a reaper whose name is Death, 
And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
And the flowers that grow between." 
It is the aim of the following sets of exercises to help the 
pupil up these three steps of composition. The first set of 
exercises aims, therefore, at nothing more than at giving the 
pupil the ability to express in detail any scene or event 
already known to him. The second set of exercises aims 
at developing in him the power of composing out of the 
scattered ideas already in his possession original descriptions 
and narrations. The third set attempts to bring him to 
the stage where even the elements of his descriptions and 
narrations are forms that have their birth only in his own 
fancy. 






CHAPTER I 

Foreword. — It is the final aim of this chapter to teach 
pupils to express in writing any object, scene, or incident 
that may fall within their experience. It is not the purpose 
to teach them to do anything like invention, strictly so- 
called. If indications of inventive ability appear in their 
work, there is no use in trying to suppress them. The 
teacher should be glad to see them, but as long as he stays 
within the limits of the exercises proposed in this chapter, 
he should not demand them. 



Exercise I 

Note. — The first thing for a professor to be careful to 
omit in this exercise is the mention of composition. He 
will find it much better to start out his class on this exercise 
without telling them its object. He can almost always take 
it for granted that his class has a strong prejudice against 
composition, and a very decided opinion that they simply 
cannot write a composition. The purpose of this exercise 
will be best attained, if the teacher can so carry it out that, 
without being aware of it themselves, the pupils awake to a 
recognition of the fact that there are many things about 
which they can write. The more imperceptibly this con- 
viction grows on them, the better for the success of these 
exercises. 

The purpose of the first exercise is to impress on pupils 
that authors frequently write at considerable length about 



378 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

subjects with which every one is familiar; that there is 
much to be said about the most familiar things. 

(N. B. — The steps of these exercises are numbered for the 
sake of reference and of clearness.) 

1) Read to the class one of the extracts given at the end 
of this exercise, or any description, or narration whose sub- 
ject-matter has fallen within the experience of all the pupils*. 
Read the passage slowly, carefully, intelligently. Tell the 
class to try to imagine it all as it is read, and to form a com- 
plete picture of the whole of it. 

2) When the reading is finished, let the teacher himself 
or one of the pupils go to the blackboard. Let the teacher 
begin by asking one of the pupils to recount from memory 
and imagination all the details of the description or narra- 
tion that he can recall. In doing this it will be advisable 
to call first on a pupil whom the teacher knows to be rather 
backward, because for such a pupil it will be easier to indi- 
cate an as yet unmentioned detail now than later when the 
matter has been sifted rather thoroughly. When the first 
pupil called on has exhausted himself, go to another pupil, 
and from the second go to a third, and so through all the 
class. Have the details suggested by one pupil after an- 
other written down on the board, but let care be taken 
that the same detail be not written down twice. This 
does not mean, however, that after a detail has once been 
mentioned, it should not come in for further remark. If 
at the first mention of it every shade and color of it has 
not been expressed, the teacher should, if the class neglects 
to notice this, invite their attention to the omission, and 
try to have them remedy it. In this pursuit after details 
the work should be kept up as long as the details seem to 

*The teacher must avoid in these first exercises any subject of 
description or narration not familiar to the pupils. A violation of 
this precept will be fatal to the success of these exercises. 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 379 

come to mind quite readily. When the class seems unable 
to enumerate any further details, it may be well to stimu- 
late their memory and imagination by hints which will re- 
call what they have forgotten. In giving a hint thus, how- 
ever, the teacher should be careful not to leave the pupils 
under the impression that their powers of enumeration 
have been exhausted. Rather give up the examination be- 
fore they come to this point, and leave them in a frame of 
mind where they feel sure that, if they had racked their 
minds a little more, they could recall more details of the 
passage read. 

3) The teacher should now run over the details as written 
out on the blackboard, indicating the fact that in gathering 
the details the author has made use of his senses, eyes, ears, 
smell, touch, taste; — that he has availed himself of side- 
knowledge gained from many sources; — history, geography, 
science; — that he has interpreted interior thought and feel- 
ing from exterior circumstances; — that he has expressed the 
feelings and sentiments aroused in himself by the person, 
the scene, or the incident under treatment. The class must 
be made to understand that the author has really built up 
his composition by the use of circumstances such as these. 
The teacher should instruct the class to watch for the use of 
these commonplaces in a composition, and, thus, to help 
themselves in grasping the whole of what any writer has to 
say. 

4) It will be profitable for the teacher now to try to repre- 
sent to the class graphically a plan of the author's thought . 
To this end let him use what we will call for convenience 
sake " bracketing. " Let him pick out one of the more 
salient and important thoughts of the passage under ex- 
amination, and let him write out on the board beside this 
one feature the qualities applied to it and the actions at- 
tributed to it, gathering the list of these qualities and 



380 



TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 



actions from the catalogues of details already on the board. 
He should for the present make no effort at putting order 
in his work, further than thus to gather details together. 
To exemplify what we mean by bracketing, and to indi- 
cate more clearly how we would have it done in this exercise, 
let us suppose that the class has been considering a passage 
in which a dog has been mentioned. - One pupil will remem- 
ber only that a dog has been mentioned, and that will be 
written on the board. Another pupil will remember that 
the dog barked, a third that the dog was large, a fourth that 
the dog barked viciously, a fifth that the dog was black, 
a sixth that the dog barked at a peddler. All these attri- 
butes have been written down on the board in the order of 
their suggestion by the class, and as other details of the 
passage have also been written down in the order of their 
suggestion, these details about the dog are separated from 
one another by other material. This being the case, let the 
teacher take the word dog and write it thus: 



dog 



Then he looks up everything said of the dog, and fills in the 
bracket thus: 

barked 
large 

barked viciously 
black 

, barked at a peddler. 
The teacher should now call the attention of the class 






dog 



5) 



again to the commonplaces the author has used in gathering 
the details about the dog. 

6) Let him go on and bracket in the same manner all the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 381 

more prominent ideas of the passage being studied, taking 
occasion after bracketing each group to call attention to the 
commonplaces used by the author in gathering the details 
of the group. 

7) After examining the thought and matter of a passage 
thus, the teacher should make some examination of the 
form. It will be sufficient for him to make some study of 
of the words and sentences. Anything higher would be 
above the pupils for whom these exercises are i'ntended. 

With regard to the sentences it will be enough to remark 
their variety of form — simple declarations, questions, ex- 
clamations, commands, etc. In thus calling attention to 
variety of form, the teacher will explain its advantages 
simply and briefly. 

Call the attention of the class to the words of the passage 
whose meaning they know, but which they do not use in 
conversation or composition. Have the pupils look up in 
their dictionary the meaning of unknown words, and ex- 
plain their use. 

8) In this exercise the teacher is to work with the pupils, 
but, as the work continues, and his assistance becomes less 
and less needful, he will gradually retire from the work and 
leave the pupils to do the exercise in concert, but without 
his assistance. 

N. B. — "In concert. " — It is still an exercise to be done by 
the whole class together. Examination by individuals and 
as individual work is another step. 

9) After the pupils have gone through a number of pas- 
sages in the manner explained above, and when they show 
that they understand the method of study, the teacher may 
start them working each for himself. In doing this he will 
read to them a passage as before, and have each of them 
write out on paper the steps of the exercise as explained 
above. This examination, however, should be made in the 



382 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

class room, because otherwise it will be hard to cope with a 
very apparent difficulty. This difficulty will occur in the 
examination of the sentences and words. In order that the 
class may make this part of the examination, after a first 
reading of an extract, and after allowing time enough for 
the pupils to go through steps 2), 4), 5), 6), and to write 
down the results of their study, the teacher will read the 
passage a second time very slowly, pausing after every sen- 
tence, in order to give the pupils a chance to note what kind 
of a sentence it is, and to set down a list of the known but 
unused words, as well as of the unknown words which it con- 
tains. When the work is done, the teacher can collect the 
papers and examine them with a view to satisfying himself 
as to the progress of each individual in this line of work. If 
the work is not satisfactory, let the teacher go back to con- 
cert work for some time. Let him lay particular stress on 
those features of the work where individuals have failed, 
and let him keep up the concert work till he feels that the 
individuals can now do the work alone and unassisted. 
Only when the individuals can satisfy his requirements, 
should he go on to the next exercise. 

N. B. — 1) It will be found advantageous to select for the 
earlier work in this exercise shorter selections, but such as 
are rather abundant in more general details. 

2) As soon as the teacher finds that the examination of a 
passage is growing tedious, let him stop it then and there, 
and go to some other work of an entirely different character, 
or to the examination of a new passage. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 383 

SELECTIONS 
(For use in the first four exercises of this chapter) 

1.— WULLY 

Wully was a little yaller dog. A yaller dog, be it understood, is not 
necessarily the same as a yellow dog. He is not simply a canine whose 
capillary covering is highly charged with yellow pigment. He is the 
mongrelest mixture of all mongrels, the least common multiple of all 
dogs, the breedless union of all dogs, and, though of no breed at all, 
he is yet of older, better breed than any of his aristocratic relations, 
for he is nature's attempt to restore the ancestral jackal, the parent 
stock of all dogs. 

From "Wild Animals I Have Known." Copyright, 1898, by 

Ernest Thomson Set on. Published by Charles Scribner's 

Sons. 

2.— THE FLY 

I believe we can nowhere find a better type of a perfectly free crea- 
ture than in the common house fly. Nor free only, but brave; and 
irreverent to a degree which I think no human republican could by any 
philosophy exalt himself to. There is no courtesy in him : he does not 
care whether it is king or clown whom he teases : and in every step of 
his swift mechanical march, and in every pause of his resolute observa- 
tion, there is one and the same expression of perfect egotism, perfect 
independence and self-confidence, and conviction of the world's having 
been made for flies. Strike at him with your hand; and to him the 
mechanical fact and external aspect of the matter is what to you it 
would be, if an acre of red clay, ten feet thick, tore itself up from the 
ground in one massive field, hovered over you in the air for a second, 
and came crashing down with an aim. That is the external aspect of 
it; the inner aspect, to the fly's mind, is of a quite natural and unim- 
portant occurrence — one of the momentary conditions of his active 
life. He steps out of the way of your hand, and alights on the back of 
it. You cannot terrify him, nor govern him, nor convince him, nor 
persuade him. He has his own positive opinion on all matters; not 
an unwise one, usually, for his own ends; and will ask no advice of 
yours. He has no work to do — no tyrannical instinct to obey. The 



384 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

earthworm has his digging; the bee her gathering and building; the 
spider her network; the ant her treasury and accounts. All these 
are comparatively slaves, or people of vulgar business. But your fly, 
free in the air, free in the chamber — a black incarnation of caprice — 
wandering, investigating, flitting, flirting, feasting at his will, with 
rich variety of choice in feast, from the heaped sweets in the grocer's 
window to those of the butcher's back-yard, and from the galled place 
on your cab-horse's back to the brown spot in the road, from which, 
as the hoof disturbs him, he rises with angry republican buzz — what 
freedom is like his ! 

— Ruskin, "The Queen of the Air." 

3.— JOCK 

Jock was insane from his birth; at first an " amabilis insania," but 
ending in mischief and sudden death. He was a fawn-colored Eng- 
lish terrier. He was more properly daft than mad; his courage, mus- 
cularity, and prodigious animal spirits making him insufferable, and 
never allowing one sane feature of himself any chance. No sooner 
was the street door opened, than he was throttling the first dog pass- 
ing, bringing on himself and on his owner endless grief. Old ladies 
he upset by jumping over their heads; old gentlemen by running 
between their legs. At home, he would think nothing of leaping 
through the tea things, upsetting the urn and the cream. I believe if 
I could have found time to thrash him sufficiently, and let him be a 
year older, we might have kept him; but having upset an Earl when 
the streets were muddy, I had to part with him. He was sent to a 
clergyman in the island of Westray, one of the Orkneys; and though 
he had a wretched voyage, and was as sick as any dog, he signalized 
the first moment of his arrival at the manse by strangling an ancient 
monkey, the pet of the minister, and the wonder of the village. Jock 
henceforward took to evil courses, extracting the kidneys of the best 
young rams, driving whole flocks down the steep places into the sea, 
till at last all the guns of Westray were pointed at him, as he stood at 
bay under a huge rock on the shore, and shortly they blew him into 
space. 

— J. Brown, "Rab and His Friends." 

4.— FROGS 

Well, let us have a look at the pond world. Choose a dry place at 
the side, and fix your eyes steadily upon the dirty water. What shall 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 385 

you see? Nothing at first; but wait a minute or two: a little, round, 
black knob appears in the middle; gradually it rises higher and higher, 
till at last you can make out a frog's head, with his great eyes staring 
hard at you, like the eyes of the frog in the woodcut facing iEsop's 
fable of the frog and the bull. Not a bit of the body do you see; he 
is much too cunning for that, he does not know who or what you are: 
you may be the heron, his mortal enemy, for aught he knows. You 
move your arm — he thinks it is the heron's bill coming. Down he 
goes again, and you see him not; a few seconds, he gains courage and 
reappears, having probably communicated the information to the 
other frogs; for many big heads and big eyes appear in all parts of the 
pond, looking like so many hippopotami on a small scale. Soon a 
conversational "wurk, wurk, wurk" begins. You don't understand 
it — luckily, perhaps, as from the swelling in their throats it is evident 
that the colony is outraged by the intrusion, and the remarks passed 
are not complimentary to the intruder. 

— F. T. Buckland, " Curiosities of Natural History." 

5.— THE HUMMING-BIRD 

Of all animated beings this is the most elegant in form and the most 
brilliant in colors. The stones and metals polished by our arts are not 
comparable to this jewel of Nature. She has placed it least in size of 
the order of birds, " maxime miranda in minimis." Her masterpiece is 
this little humming-bird, and upon it she has heaped all the gifts which 
the other birds may only share. Lightness, rapidity, nimbleness, 
grace, and rich apparel all belong to this little favorite. The emerald, 
the ruby, and the topaz gleam upon its dress. It never soils them 
with the dust of earth, and in its aerial life scarcely touches the turf 
an instant. Always in the air, flying from flower to flower, it has their 
freshness as well as their brightness. It lives upon their nectar, and 
dwells only in the climates where they perennially bloom. 

— Buffon, " Natural History." 

6.— SPRING 

What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, where 
Spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails, 
and the misty pennon of the East- wind nailed to the mast? Yet even 
here, and in the stormy month of March even, there are bright warm 



386 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

mornings, when we open our window to inhale the balmy air. The 
pigeons fly to and fro, and we hear the whirring sound of wings. Old 
flies crawl out of the cracks to sun themselves, and think it is summer. 
They die in their conceit; and so do our hearts within us, when the 
cold sea-breath comes from the eastern sea, and again 

"The driving hail 
Upon the window beats with icy flail." 

The red-flowering maple is first in blossom, its beautiful purple 
flowers unfolding a fortnight before the leaves. The moosewood 
follows with rose-colored buds and leaves; and the dogwood robed in 
the white of its own pure blossoms. Then comes the sudden rain- 
storm; and the birds fly to and fro, and shriek. Where do they hide 
themselves in such storms — at what firesides dry their feathery cloaks? 
At the fireside of the great hospitable sun; to-morrow, not before; — 
• they must sit in wet garments until then. 

In all climates Spring is beautiful. In the South it is intoxicating, 
and sets a poet beside himself. The birds begin to sing; — they utter 
a few rapturous notes, and then wait for answer in the silent woods. 
Those green coated musicians, the frogs, make holiday in the neighbor- 
ing marshes. They, too, belong to the orchestra of Nature; whose 
vast theater is again opened, though the doors have been so long 
bolted with icicles, and the scenery hung with snow and frost-like 
cobwebs. This is the prelude which announces the opening of the 
scene. Already the grass shoots forth. The waters leap with thrilling 
pulse through the veins of the earth; the sap through the veins of the 
trees; and the blood through the veins of man. What a thrill of 
delight in Springtime! What a joy in being and moving! Men are 
at work in gardens; and in the air there is an odor of the fresh earth. 
The leaf-buds begin to swell and blush. The white blossoms of the 
cherry hang upon the boughs like snowflakes; and ere long our next- 
door neighbors will be completely hidden from us by the dense green 
foliage. The May-flowers open their soft blue eyes. Children are let 
loose in the fields and gardens. They hold buttercups under each 
others' chins to see if they love butter. And the little girls adorn 
themselves with chains and curls of dandelions; pull out the yellow 
leaves to see if the schoolboy loves them, and blow the down from the 
leafless stalk to find out if their mothers want them at home. 

— Longfellow, " Hyperion." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 387 



7.— THE HOUSE-CRICKET 

Crickets are fond of kitchens and bakers' ovens on account of their 
warmth. Tender insects that live abroad either enjoy only the short 
period of one summer, or else doze away the cold, uncomfortable 
months in profound slumbers; but these residing, as it were, in a torrid 
zone, are always alert and merry : a good Christmas fire is to them like 
the heats of the dog-days. Though they are frequently heard by day, 
yet is their natural time of motion only in the night. As soon as it 
grows dusk, the chirping increases, and they come running forth, ranging 
from the size of a flea to that of their full stature. As one should sup- 
pose from the burning atmosphere which they inhabit, they are a 
thirsty race, and show a great propensity for liquids; being frequently 
drowned in pans of water, milk, broth, and the like. Whatever is 
moist they affect; and therefore often gnaw holes in wet woolen 
stockings and aprons that are hung to the fire. 

—Gilbert White, "The Natural History of Selborne." 

8.— AN HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE 

An hour before sunrise in the city there is an air of cold, solitary 
desolation about the noiseless streets, which we are accustomed to see 
thronged at other times by a busy, eager crowd, and over the quiet, 
closely shut buildings which throughout the day are swarming with 
life. The drunken, the dissipated, and the criminal have disappeared ; 
the more sober and orderly part of the population have not yet awak- 
ened to the labors of the day, and the stillness of death is over the 
streets; its very hue seems to be imparted to them, cold and lifeless as 
they look in the gray, somber light of daybreak. A partially opened 
bed-room window here and there bespeaks the heat of the weather, 
and the uneasy slumbers of its occupant; and the dim scanty flicker of 
a light through the blinds of yonder windows denotes the chamber 
of watching and sickness. Save for that sad light, the streets present 
no signs of life, nor the houses of habitation. 

— Dickens, "Boz." 

9.— THE SEJAN STEED 

The stature of the terrible Sejan steed was unusually large; but the 
fineness of his form took away the idea of unwieldiness, and gave a 



388 TEACHERS 9 tiANDBOOK 

guarantee of both power and speed. However, any person who had 
studied horses, and was learned in their points, would at a glance have 
condemned this one's head. It was, indeed, not lacking in physical 
elegance, although not lean enough; the forehead was very broad, but 
the eye was not sufficiently prominent nor mild in expression, and it 
shot forth a restless light; the muzzle and the ears, moreover, were 
coarse; the bones from the eye down were too concave, and the nostril 
appeared to be too thick. Something untrustworthy, and almost 
wicked, characterized the expression of the head altogether. The jaws 
were wide, and the neck was extraordinarily deep. The shoulders were 
not so flat or so thin as the Romans liked them to be; the girth around 
the heart was vast; the chest broad and full; the body barrel-shaped. 
The limbs were long, but the bones were everywhere well covered with 
muscle, the hind legs being remarkably straight in the drop; in short, 
they promised an immense stride when the animal should be urged to 
his fastest gallop. 

— Miles Gerald Keon, "Dion and the Sibyls." 



10.— A RIDICULOUS HORSE AND HIS RIDER 

(Cf. Selection 93, page 177 — "Robin Hood and the Corn- 
Engrosser." If b.) 

11.— A DONKEY 

(Cf . Selection 109, page 202—" Pierrot the Faithful." Iffl <* and e.) 

12.— THE BABYHOOD OF LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY 

Though Little Lord Fauntleroy was born in so quiet and cheap a 
little home, it seemed as if there never had been a more fortunate baby. 
In the first place, he was always well, and so he never gave anyone 
trouble; in the second place, he had so sweet a temper and ways so 
charming that he was a pleasure to everyone; and in the third place, 
he was so beautiful to look at that he was quite a picture. Instead of 
being a bald-headed baby, he started in life with a quantity of soft, 
fine, gold-colored hair, which curled up at the ends, and went into loose 
rings by the time he was six months old; he had big brown eyes and 
long eyelashes and a darling little face; he had so strong a back and 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 389 

such sturdy little legs, that at nine months he learned suddenly to 
walk; his manners were so good, for a baby, that it was delightful to 
make his acquaintance. He seemed to feel that everyone was his 
friend, and when anyone spoke to him, when he was in his carriage in 
the street, he would give the stranger one sweet, serious look with the 
brown eyes, and then follow it with a lovely friendly smile; and the 
consequence was, that there was not a person in the neighborhood of 
the quiet little street where he lived — even to the groceryman at the 
corner, who was considered the crossest creature alive — who was not 
pleased to see him and speak to him. And every month of his life he 
grew handsomer and more interesting. 

—From " Little Lord Fauntleroy." Copyright, 1886, 1897, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



13.— WITHIN THE HOUR BEFORE SAILING 

And then, it seemed almost directly, they were on the steamer in the 
midst of the wildest bustle and confusion; carriages were driving down 
and leaving the passengers; passengers were getting into a state of 
excitement about baggage which had not arrived and threatened to be 
late; big trunks and cases were bumped down and dragged about; 
sailors were uncoiling ropes and hurrying to and fro; officers were 
giving orders; ladies and gentlemen and nurses and children were 
coming on board — some were laughing and looked gay, some were 
silent and sad, here and there two or three were crying and touching 
their eyes with their handkerchiefs. 

—From " Little Lord Fauntleroy." Copyright, 1886, 1897, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



14.— TOPSY 

Topsy was one of the blackest of her race; and her round shining 
eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances 
over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open with astonish- 
ment at the wonders of the new master's parlor, displayed a white and 
brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly hair was braided in sundry little 
tails, which stuck out in every direction. The expression of her face 
was an odd mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly 
drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most doleful gravity 



390 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

and solemnity. She was dressed in a filthy, ragged garment, made of 
bagging; and stood with her hands folded demurely before her. Alto- 
gether, there was something so strange and goblin-like about her ap- 
pearance — something, as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, "so heathen- 
ish," as to inspire that good lady with utter dismay. 

— H. B. Stowe, "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 



15.— THE CITY STREETS ON A RAINY NIGHT 

But the streets of London, to be seen in the very height of their 
glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, murky winter's night, when there 
is just enough damp stealing down to make the pavement greasy, 
without cleansing it of any of its impurities; and when the heavy, lazy 
mist, which hangs over every object, makes the gas-lamps look brighter 
and the brilliantly lighted shops more splendid, from the contrast they 
present to the darkness around. All the people, who are at home on 
such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves as snug and 
comfortable as possible : and the passengers on the streets have excel- 
lent reason to envy the fortunate individuals who are seated by their 
own firesides. 

— Dickens, " Sketches by Boz." 

16.— A FARM-HOUSE 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill, commanding the sea, and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. 
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, 
Such as the traveler sees in regions remote by the wayside, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss- 
grown 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the 

farm-yard. 
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique plows and the 

harrows; 
There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio, 



I 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 391 

Strutted the lordly turkey and crowed the cock, with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch: and a staircase 
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. 
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates 
Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 

— Longfellow, " Evangeline." 

17.— THE FIRST SNOW 

The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling so silently all 
day long, all night long, on the mountains, on the meadows, on the 
roofs of the living, on the graves of the dead! All white save the river, 
that marked its course by a winding black line across the landscape; 
and the leafless trees, that against the leaden sky now revealed more 
fully the wonderful beauty and intricacies of their branches. What 
silence, too, came with the snow, and what seclusion! Every sound 
w r as muffled, every noise changed to something soft and musical. No 
more tramping hoofs, no more rattling wheels! Only the chiming of 
sleigh-bells, beating as swift and merrily as the hearts of children. 

— Longfellow, "Kavanagh." 

18.— IN THE FIRE-LIGHT 

Indoors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair; and watched how the flames and the smoke- 
wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. 
Faces clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm chair 
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. 

— Longfellow, " Evangeline." 

19.— EVENING IN THE COUNTRY 

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and herds to the homestead. 



392 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

Pawing the ground they come, and resting their necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch- 
dog, 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept: their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves 

howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, 
Laden with briny hay that filled the air with its odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders 
Unto the milkmaids' hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. 
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors. 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 

— Longfellow, ' ' Evangeline. ' ' 

20.— THE SISTER OF CHARITY 

She once was a lady of honor and wealth: 
Bright glowed in her features the roses of health: 
Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, 
And her motion shook perfume from every fold. 






She felt in her spirit the summons of grace — 
And passed from her home with the joy of a bride: 
No more in the ball-room that figure we meet, 
But gliding at dusk to the wretch's retreat. 



Her down-bed — a pallet: her trinkets — a bead; 
Her luster — one taper, that serves her to read; 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 393 

Her sculpture — the crucifix nailed by her bed; 

Her paintings — one print of the thorn-crowned head; 

Her cushion — the pavement, that wearies her knees: 

Her music — the psalm, or the sigh of disease; 

The delicate lady lives mortified there, 

And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. 

—Gerald Griffin, "The Sister of Charity." 

21.— GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM'S HALL 

With many variations, suggested by the nature of Ins building mate- 
rials, diversity of climate, and a different mode of social life, Governor 
Bellingham had planned his new habitation after the residences of 
gentlemen of fair estate in his native land. Here, then, was a wide and 
reasonably lofty hall, extending through the whole depth of the house, 
and forming a medium of general communication, more or less di- 
rectly, with all the other apartments. At one extremity, this spacious 
hall was lighted by the windows of the two towers, which formed a 
small recess on either side of the portal. At the other end, though 
partly muffled by a curtain, it was more powerfully illuminated by 
one of those embowered hall- windows which we read of in old books, 
and which was provided with a deep and cushioned seat. Here, on 
the cushion, lay a folio tome, probably of the Chronicles of England, 
or other such substantial literature; even as, in our own days, we 
scatter gilded volumes on the center table, to be turned over by the 
casual guest. The furniture of the hall consisted of some ponderous 
chairs, the backs of which were elaborately carved with wreaths of 
oaken flowers; and likewise a table in the same taste; the whole being 
of Elizabethan age, or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, transferred hither 
from the governor's paternal home. On the table — in token that the 
sentiment of old English hospitality had not been left behind — stood 
a large pewter tankard, at the bottom of which, had Hester or Pearl 
peeped into it, might have been seen the frothy remnant of a recent 
draught of ale. 

— Hawthorne, "Scarlet Letter." 

22.— AN OLD HOUSE 

In its palmier days the house had probably been the residence of 
some wealthy citizen. But its palmy days were long ago, and now the 



394 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

fence, once so scrupulously painted, was a sooty black, and the broken 
teeth here and there among the pickets testified too clearly that this 
once respectable fence had yielded to the vices of the neighborhood. 
The yard within, once a refreshing bit of green, with an occasional 
flower to brighten the verdure, was now a desolate prospect of soft 
black mud, only varied by a stray weed of a sickly yellow, or by an un- 
accountable growth of tin cans and broken bricks. The house itself 
seemed ashamed of its degradation, and a veranda, whose pillars 
supported the south side, seemed weary of its labor and anxious to 
totter into its grave. 

— Anonymous. 

23.— A LITTLE GIRL 

Sitting on a grassy grave, beneath one of the windows of the church, 
was a little girl. With her head bent back she was gazing up at the 
sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny 
cloud that hovered like a golden feather above her head. The sun, 
which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair, 
gave it a metallic luster, and it was difficult to say what was the color, 
dark bronze or black. So completely absorbed was she in watching 
the cloud to which her strange song or incantation seemed addressed, 
that she did not observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over 
her head, high up in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same 
gauzy cloud was singing, as if in rivalry. As I slowly approached the 
child, I could see by her forehead, which in the sunshine seemed like a 
globe of pearl, and especially by her complexion, that she was uncom- 
monly lovely. Her eyes, which at one moment seemed blue-gray, at 
another violet, were shaded by long black lashes, curving backward in 
a most peculiar way, and these matched in hue her eyebrows, and the 
tresses that were tossed about her tender throat and were quivering in 
the sunlight. All this I did not take in at once; for at first I could see 
nothing but those quivering, glittering, changeful eyes turned up into 
my face. Gradually the other features, especially the sensitive full- 
lipped mouth, grew upon me as I stood silently gazing. Here seemed 
to me a more perfect beauty than had ever come to me in my love- 
liest dreams of beauty. Yet it was not her beauty so much as the 
look' she gave me that fascinated me, melted me. 

— Printed by permission of Dodd, Mead & Company. From 

"Aylwin," by Theodore Watts-Dunton. Copyright, 1898, 

by Dodd, Mead & Company. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 395 



24.— PINES 

The pine, placed nearly always among scenes disordered and deso- 
late, brings into them all possible elements of order and precision. 
Lowland trees may lean to this side and that, though it is but a meadow 
breeze that bends them, or a bank of cowslips from which their trunks 
lean aslope. But let storm and avalanche do their worst, and let the 
pine find only a ledge of vertical precipice to cling to, it will neverthe- 
less grow straight. Thrust a rod from its last shoot down the stem; 
it shall point to the center of the earth as long as the tree lives. It may 
be well also for lowland branches to reach hither and thither for what 
they need, and to take all kinds of irregular shape and extension. But 
the pine is trained to need nothing and endure everything. It is 
resolvedly whole, self-contained, desiring nothing but lightness, con- 
tent with restricted completion. Tall or short, it will be straight. 

— Ruskin, "Modern Painters." 



25.— TREES 

The spruce is a straight-trunked tree that throws out branches that 
ride upward like crescents, and bear needles that hang downward like 
fringes. Its outline, when seen in silhouette against the sky, is pyram- 
idal; its color is dark green, often blue-green when seen from a dis- 
tance, and at twilight it is cold-purple. The pine is like it, but its 
branches are not so crescent-shaped, and the needles push outward in 
clusters rather than droop downward in fringes. It is of darker color 
than the spruce, and at night or under shadow, it is bluer. The poplar 
is a tall tree, and often a straight one, but the branches do not swing 
outward like the pine. They seek rather to grow straight beside the 
parent stem, and the twigs and the sharp-pointed foliage surround the 
branches as a loose sleeve the arm of woman. It is white-trunked, 
with a leaf that is bright green on one side and silvery green on the other 
side. The black oak grows a straight trunk with limbs that shoot out 
almost at right angles; but the white oak and the pin oak are crooked 
and twisted, their harsh trunks are often broken with boles, and their 
limbs may take angle lines or prong out like the horns of a deer. Very 
different from such an angular growth as the oak is the stately elm, its 
long limbs branching and falling so gracefully, the weeping wallow that 
throws its branches up and over like the spray from a fountain, the 



396 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

round, ball-shaped horse-chestnut, or the long-armed, white-breasted 
birch of the mountains. 

— From "Nature for Its Own Sake." Copyright, 1898, by- 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 



26.— GRASS 

Gather a single blade of grass, and consider for a moment, quietly, its 
narrow sword-shaped strip of fluted green. A very little strength, and 
a very little tallness, and a few delicate long lines meeting in a point — 
not a perfect point either, but blunt and unfinished, by no means a 
creditable or apparently much cared for example of Nature's work- 
manship; made, as it seems, only to be trodden on to-day, and to- 
morrow to be cast into the oven; and a little pale and hollow stalk, 
feeble and flaccid, leading down to the dull brown fibers of roots. 
And yet, think of it well, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers 
that beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly trees, pleasant 
to the eyes and good for food, — stately palm and pine, strong ash and 
oak, scented citron, burdened vine, — there be any by man so deeply 
loved, by God so highly graced, as that narrow point of feeble green. 
And well does it fulfill its mission. Consider what we owe merely to 
the meadow grass, to the covering of the dark ground by that glorious 
enamel, by the companies of those soft, and countless, and peaceful 
spears. Consider the fields; consider the pastures beside the pacing 
brooks; consider the soft banks and knolls of lowly hills; consider 
the crisp lawns all dim with early dew, or smooth in evening warmth 
of barred sunshine; — and these are not all. Go out in the springtime, 
among the meadows that slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to 
the roots of their lower mountains. There, mingled with the taller 
gentians and the white narcissus, the grass grows deep and free; and 
as you follow the winding mountain paths beneath arching bows, 
all veiled and dim with blossoms — paths that forever droop and rise 
over the green banks and mounds, sweeping down in scented undula- 
tion, steep to the blue water, studded here and there with new mown 
heaps, filling all the air with fainter sweetness — look up towards the 
higher hills, where the waves of everlasting green roll silently into 
their long inlets among the shadows of the pines; and we may, per- 
haps, at last know the meaning of those quiet words of the 147th 
Psalm, "He maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains." 

— Ruskin, "Modern Painters." 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 397 



27.— NIGHT 

Night has fallen over the country. Through the trees rises the 
red moon, and the stars are scarcely seen. In the vast shadow of 
night the coolness and the dews descend. I sit at the open window 
to enjoy them; and hear only the voice of the summer wind. Like 
black hulks, the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the bil- 
lowy sea of grass. I cannot see the red and blue flowers, but I know 
that they are there. Far away in the meadow gleams the silver 
Charles. The tramp of horses' hoofs sounds from the wooden bridge. 
Then all is still save the continuous wind of the summer night. Some- 
times I know not if it be the wind or the sound of the neighboring sea. 
The village clock strikes; and I feel that I am not alone. 

How different is it in the city! It is late, and the crowd is gone. 
You step out upon the balcony, and lie in the very bosom of the cool, 
dewy night as if you folded her garments about you. Beneath lies the 
public walk with trees, like a fathomless, black gulf, into whose silent 
darkness the spirit plunges, and floats away with some beloved spirit 
clasped in its embrace. The lamps are still burning up and down the 
long street. People go by with grotesque shadows, now foreshortened, 
and now lengthening away into the darkness and vanishing, while a 
new one springs up behind the walker, and seems to pass him revolv- 
ing like the sail of a windmill. The iron gates of the park shut with a 
jangling clang. There are footsteps and loud voices; — a tumult; — 
a drunken brawl; — an alarm of fire; — then silence again. And now 
at length the city is asleep, and we can see the night. The belated 
moon looks over the roofs, and finds no one to welcome her. The 
moonlight is broken. It lies here and there in the squares, and the 
opening of the streets — angular like blocks of ^white marble. 

— Hawthorne. 

28.— A NOVEMBER DAY 

It was November, and a dreary day even for the dreary old month. 
For twenty-four hours the sun had not shown himself. Overhead 
hung a foggy, watery sky, and to the misery of the fog was added a 
smoky mist, that choked, and stifled, and caught in the throat of all 
who were forced to breathe it in. The hearty blast, that blows on a 
cold, clear day, rushes up against one with a bluff good will, and 
straight is off again; but to-day the atmosphere clung about one in 



398 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

a cold, clammy way till a shiver ran through the whole frame, and one 
trembled, and shook, as if, with a steady drip, drip, drip, the con- 
densed moisture that fell from awnings and archways were trickling 
down one's spine. Through all the streets and even into the big 
stores with their lights and artificial warmth the mist and the chill 
spread themselves, and the clerks behind the plate-glass windows 
looked out on the streets, and shivered with the people that paced 
them. One light' and one fire only could disperse the dark and the 
cold. To the lamp and the hearth at home the thoughts of men were 
turned. Merchants watched the clock-hands, that usually flew on 
their race, now moving along with a provoking slowness, as if the 
wet weather had hung leaden weights on their wings, and the mer- 
chants' fingers twitched nervously with an itching to push on the lag- 
ging indices to the day's goal. Policemen, in their long rubber coats, 
stamped impatiently at the corners, and began to long for the relief 
eight hours before its time. Rapid messenger boys flung aside their 
respect for the decorum of a sober pace, and hurried along as though 
their own haste would quicken time. Even the old cable car, as it 
bumped and rattled along, seemed to groan out a prayer for a barn, 
and then to rush on with fresh speed, confident its request was heard. 
Home! home! home! In every face you read the same word, in every 
eye you caught the same desire. 

— Anonymous. 

29.— THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 

Little Nell looked round the room as she took her seat. There were 
a couple of forms, notched and cut and inked all over; a small deal 
desk perched on four legs, at which no doubt the master sat, a few 
dog-eared books upon a high shelf; and beside them a motley col- 
lection of peg-tops, balls, kites, fishing-lines, marbles, half-eaten 
apples, and other confiscated property of idle urchins. Displayed on 
hooks upon the wall in all their terrors were the cane and ruler; and 
near them, on a small shelf of its own, the dunce's cap, made of old 
newspapers and decorated with glaring wafers of the largest size. 
But the greatest ornaments of the walls were certain moral sentences, 
fairly copied in good round text, and well-worked sums in simple 
addition and multiplication, evidently -achieved by the same hand, 
which were plentifully pasted all around the room, for the double pur- 
pose, as it seemed, of bearing testimony to the excellence of the school, 
and kindling a worthy emulation in the bosoms of the scholars. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 399 

As the schoolmaster, after arranging the two forms in due order, 
took his seat behind his desk, and made other preparations for school, 
Nell was apprehensive that she might be in the way, and offered to 
withdraw to her little bedroom. But this he would not allow, and, 
as he seemed pleased to have her there, she remained, busying herself 
with her knitting. 

A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the 
door while the schoolmaster was speaking, and stopping there to 
make a rustic bow, came in, and took his seat upon one of the forms. 
The white-headed boy put an open book, astonishingly dog-eared, 
upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets began count- 
ing the marbles with which they were filled, displaying in the expres- 
sion of his face a remarkable capacity of totally abstracting his mind 
from the spelling on which his eyes were fixed. Soon afterwards 
another white-headed boy came straggling in, and after him a red- 
headed lad, and after him two more with white heads, and then one 
with a flaxen poll, and so on until the forms were occupied by a dozen 
boys or thereabouts, with heads of every color but gray, and ranging 
in their ages from four years old to fourteen or more; for the legs of 
the youngest were a long ways from the floor when he sat upon the 
form, and the eldest was a good-tempered fellow, about half a head 
taller than the schoolmaster. 

—Dickens, "The Old Curiosity Shop." 

30.— THE SWAMP 

Old Olifant's swamp was a rough, brambly tract of second growth 
woods, with a marshy pond and a stream through the middle. A 
few ragged remnants of the old forest still stood in it, and a few of the 
still older trunks were lying about as dead logs in the brushwood. 
The land about the pond was of that willow-grown sedgy kind that 
cats and horses avoid, but that cattle do not fear. The drier zones 
were overgrown with briars and young trees. The outermost belt 
of all, that next the fields, was of thrifty, gummy-trunked young 
pines whose living needles in air and dead ones on earth offer so deli- 
cious an odor to the nostrils of the passer-by, and so deadly a breath 
to those seedlings that would compete with them for the worthless 
waste they grow on. 

— " Wild Animals I Have Known." Copyright, 1898, by Ernest 
Thomson Seton. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



400 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 



31.— A SUMMER DAY 






One day thirty years ago Marseilles lay in the burning sun. A 
blazing sun upon a. fierce August day was no greater rarity in southern 
France then than at any other time before or since. Everything in 
Marseilles and about Marseilles had stared at the fervid sun, and been 
stared at in return, until a staring habit had become universal there. 
Strangers were stared out of countenance by staring white houses, 
staring white streets, staring tracts of arid road, staring hills from 
which verdure was burnt away. The only things to be seen not fix- 
edly staring and glaring were the vines drooping under their load of 
grapes. These did occasionally wink a little, as the hot air barely 
moved their faint leaves. 

The universal stare made the eyes ache. Towards the distant blue of 
the Italian coast, indeed, it was a little relieved by light clouds of mist 
slowly rising from the evaporation of the sea, but it softened nowhere 
else. Far away the staring roads, deep in dust, stared from the hill- 
side, stared from the hollow, stared from the interminable plain. Far 
away the dusty vines overhanging wayside cottages, and the monoto- 
nous wayside avenues of parched trees without shade, drooped be- 
neath the stare of earth and sky. So did the horses with drowsy 
bells, in long files of carts, creeping slowly towards the interior; so did 
their recumbent drivers, when they were awake, which rarely hap- 
pened; so did the exhausted laborers in the fields. Everything that 
lived or grew was oppressed by the glare; except the lizard, passing 
swiftly over rough stone walls, and cicada, chirping its dry hot chirp, 
like a rattle. The very dust was scorched brown, and something 
quivered in the atmosphere as if the air itself were panting. 

Blinds, shutters, curtains, awnings, were all closed and drawn to 
keep out the stare. Grant it but a chink or a keyhole, and it shot in 
like a white-hot arrow. 

—Dickens, "Little Dorrit." 



32.— AUTUMN 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread, 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 401 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and 

stood, 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? 
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain 
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. 

—Bryant, "The Death of the Flowers." 

33.— DAWN 
(Cf. Selection 48, page 85— "Quo Vadis, Domine?" ff c, d, e.) 

34.— HORSE-TAMING 

(Cf. Selection 74, page 134— "The Sejan Steed." ff d, e.) 

35.— ROWING IN AN ICE-BLOCKED RIVER 

(Cf. Selection 76, page 139— "When the Ice Broke." ff d, e, or 
whole selection.) 

36.— A RUNAWAY TEAM 

(Cf . Selection 80, page 146— " On the Way to the Fire." f If a, b.) 

37.— A REFRACTORY STEED 

(Cf. Selection 85, page 157— "Mr. Winkle's Ride." ft f, g, h, i; 
also Selection 107, page 200 — "Trying Old Prescriptions.") 

38.— SUNSET 
(Cf. Selection 91. page 171 — " An Autumn Sunset." Esp. a, b, c, d J 

39.— SUNRISE 

(Cf. Selection 106, page 199— "An October Sunrise.") 



402 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

40.— THE STORM 

(Cf. Selection 119, page 219— " The Night Storm.") 

41.— SKATING 

(Cf. Selection 90, page 168— "The Pickwickians on the Ice.") 

42.— A RACE 

(Cf. Selection 77, page 141— " A Bumping Race." Esp. Iff h, i.) 

43.— A RESCUE FROM FIRE 

(Cf. Selections 116, page 214 — "The Heroism of John Binns," and 
135, page 224— "The Adventure of Tillerman McDermott.") 

44.— A STREET SINGER 

(Cf. Selection 83, page 152— "The Dwarfs Gift." ft b, c, d.) 

Exercise II 

Note. — It is the purpose of the previous exercise to bring 
pupils to the recognition of the fact that authors can write 
at considerable length about subjects with which every 
one is familiar. This is done in that exercise chiefly by im- 
pressing pupils with the abundance of details for composi- 
tion which can be found in everything about us. In this 
second exercise it is the purpose to explain to the class some 
principles of order as exemplified in passages of good writ- 
ers. This explanation will be given, not in the form of 
abstract rules, but rather in that of concrete examples. 

1) The first steps of this exercise will be the same as 1), 
2), 3), 4), 5), 6) of the previous exercise. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 



403 



2) The teacher will now begin by calling the attention 
of the class to the fact that many of the groups of ideas 
and thoughts which he has bracketed separately have 
some connection with one another; — are different features 
of one general idea. Thus, e. g., in the description of an 
equipage there may be separate brackets containing de- 
scriptions of the horses, of the carriage, of the coachman, 
of the occupants. The teacher will correlate these separate 
smaller brackets by means of a larger bracket, thus: 
f big, 



equipage, J 



horse, -I sleek, 
{ lazy, 



carriage 



&^> 



coachman, 



occupants, 



old fashioned, 

rolls along with a stately air, 
capacious, 

shows evidence of wealth, 
unostentatious, 

not remarkable by any vulgar 
display, 

fat, 

jolly, 

neatly dressed, 

" children, 

noisy, 

happy, 

shouting to all they meet, 

waking the echoes, 

their wit innocent, 
,. bringing smiles to older faces. 



N. B. — The object of the teacher at this stage of the work 
is to arrange the details in sentence-groups, and to show 



404 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

their relation to the paragraph. In some cases the brackets 
of details first written will, as in the case quoted above, be 
sentence-groups. In nearly all cases, however, the brackets 
of details as first written will not be sentence-groups. In 
the same bracket there will be details belonging to different 
sentences, and, if a selection of more than one paragraph 
is under discussion, in the same bracket there will be de- 
tails belonging to different paragraphs. In cases such as 
these, the teacher must ask the class to select from one 
bracket, or from several brackets, the details which will 
make up a sentence — complete sense — and combine these 
details in new brackets. He should tell the class to be 
guided in this work by what they remember of the selection 
read. The teacher himself should be guided by the sen- 
tence-structure of the selection, since it is the main object 
of this exercise to show how the author has combined his 
sentences and paragraphs. 

3) After the teacher has arranged these new brackets 
(sentence-groups), he will call the attention of the class to 
the order that ought to exist among them — which bracket 
should come first, which last, etc. As soon as he has de- 
termined this order, he will indicate the connection in 
thought between one bracket or sentence-group and the next. 

4) After the teacher has studied one group of brackets 
(one paragraph) in this manner, he will, if there be other 
groups of brackets (paragraphs), go through them in the 
same manner. 

5) The connection of all the paragraphs and their bear- 
ing on the general subject of the whole selection should 
next be indicated and explained. Here, too, the teacher 
should make use of means which will represent this connec- 
tion graphically to the class. Diagramming, or bracket- 
ing, as already used, will probably be found most conve- 
nient. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 405 

N. B. — In this exercise the teacher should call attention 
to the order and connection of the parts. He should give 
some explanation of the principles of order, but in doing 
this he must be very careful to put all that he says in a con- 
crete form. Young students cannot understand abstract 
rules of order. The teacher will probably succeed best by 
simply pointing out in each case the order followed. The 
frequent repetition of such instruction will gradually im- 
press on the pupils the simple principles of order. They 
will begin to see that in the description of a house they 
should proceed in writing as they do in seeing, i. e., from 
outside to inside, from room to room; that in describing a 
man or woman they should proceed from a general im- 
pression to particular details, etc. 

6) The teacher should now study with his pupils the form 
of the passage under examination. In this he should do 
all that is set down in 7) of the previous exercise, and should 
beside dwell on the manner in which the connection between 
sentence and sentence, paragraph and paragraph, is made. 
In order to do this the teacher may have to re-read the 
passage. 

7) The other steps of this exercise are the same as those 
indicated in 8) and 9) of the previous exercise. 

Exercise III 

Note. — This is the first step in composition, but even here 
the teacher need not start out by telling the class that he 
intends composition. 

1) Take up a selection and examine it in accordance 
with the directions given in 1), 2), 3), 4), 5), 6) of the pre- 
vious exercise. Do everything as there set down. Let the 
class imagine that they are returning to a concert exercise 
as there explained. 



406 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

2) When this has been done let the teacher turn to a 
pupil, and pointing to a bracket of ideas, ask him how the 
author expressed those ideas. The answer will be a sen- 
tence.* It may be well to call on some other pupil imme- 
diately for corrections and improvements. It is likely, 
however, that to prevent tedium, the teacher will be obliged 
to accept each pupil's expression of the bracket given him, 
unless the sentence as first proposed is noticeably faulty in 
rhetorical, and, especially, in grammatical structure. As 
soon as the sentence is given, let it be written on the board. 

3) When all the brackets of ideas have been expressed 
in sentences, the teacher should call the attention of the 
class to the fact that in many, if not in all, cases there is no 
connection between the sentences. Let him call on the 
pupils to remedy the defect, and let the connection as much 
as possible be wholly their work. 

4) The teacher must next attempt to put variety into 
the sentences. Here again he should endeavor to have as 
much as possible of the work done by the class without any 
assistance from him. Where his assistance is given, let it 
be by hints. 

5) Let him now indicate to the class how the sentences, 
which are the expressions of brackets of ideas, are to be 
combined into paragraphs. His instruction here will be 
very simple. The class is to understand that every group of 
brackets will, when the brackets have been converted into 
sentences, become a paragraph. The teacher should at- 
tempt no more abstract instruction than this. The only 
thing to add is how to indent the paragraphs. 

* To exemplify : — The teacher will point to the subgroup contained 

in the diagram given in Exercise II, horse, -J , ' and ask a pupil 

how the author expressed the three ideas, horse, big, sleek. The 
pupil's answer will be: "The horse was big and sleek," or something 
equivalent according more or less with the form of the author. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 407 

N. B. — The teacher must insist on such simple rules of 
punctuation as the pupils are supposed to know. 

6) After the composition is thus written on the board, 
the teacher should have the class copy it down with pen and 
ink on paper, and hand in these papers to him. 

7) It will always be very useful at this period of the 
work to read to the class the original passage, and to make 
some few comparisons between the author's and the pupils' 
rendition of the same ideas. 

8) In the early stages of this exercise the teacher will 
have to go through every step with the class, but as the 
work proceeds, and the class understands what is to be 
done, the teacher may gradually retire, and let the class 
continue the exercise, still in concert, but without his as- 
sistance. 

9) Later, when the class has gotten accustomed to going 
through the exercise together without the teacher, the 
teacher may have his pupils work out the exercise each for 
himself. When this stage of the work is reached, it will be 
quite possible for the teacher to have much of the exercise 
done at home. The only step in the work beyond reading 
the passage to the class which needs to be done in classroom 
is that indicated under 6) of the previous exercise and in- 
cluded in 1) of this exercise. 

Exercise IV 

Note. — This is the first exercise in original composition. 
But even here when the teacher begins the exercise, he need 
not tell the class what he is aiming at. He must, as much 
as possible, allow the class to awake pleasantly to the fact 
that they have written a composition without having recog- 
nized during the course of it that they were about that 
odious work. 



408 TEACHERS 1 HANDBOOK 

1) Let the teacher mention to the class some object, per- 
son, scene, or incident with which they are all familiar. He 
must tell them to imagine it vividly. Let him remind 
them that to this it will help if they apply the common- 
places already touched on in former exercises. 

2) Let him ask them to tell all that they know about this 
subject — never telling them, however, that it is the subject 
for a composition. Let the details that they enumerate 
be written on the board first, then let them be bracketed, 
arranged in brackets and groups of brackets as in the pre- 
vious exercises. In doing this last, however, i. e., arrang- 
ing the details in brackets and groups of brackets, the 
teacher must be careful not to allow contradictory or in- 
consistent qualities or actions to be attributed to the same 
thing. For this reason he will have to examine every 
bracket of ideas, and eliminate anything that would offend 
against this consistency. Later when he correlates the 
brackets in order to show what is to be said of some more 
prominent idea, he will have more of this elimination to do, 
because what in one bracket is in no way contradictory to 
anything contained in that bracket may be contradictory 
to something contained in some other bracket. In reject- 
ing such contradictory and inconsistent details, the teacher 
need not stop at glaring inconsistencies. From the very 
beginning of composition he should insist on the finer con- 
sistencies of tone and color that go to make the perfect pro- 
duction. This last, however, must be done in the simplest, 
most concrete way possible. 

N. B. — In all this work with details the teacher must con- 
tinually call to the attention of the class the abundance 
of material within the reach of every pupil. The purpose 
of this is to give the pupils an idea of power and ability. As 
soon as the average boy knows that he has something to say 
about a subject, he is anxious to say it. 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 409 

3) The next steps in this exercise are the same as 2), 3), 
4), 5), 6), of the previous exercise. 

4) Where the subject treated by the class is one that has 
been written of by an author of any excellence, it will be 
useful to read to the class the composition of that author 
after they have written their own. 

5) The remaining steps of this exercise will be the same 
as those indicated in 8) and 9) of the previous exercise. 

6) When the class can thus take up some object, person, 
scene, or incident known to them and express these subjects 
plainly and simply, but correctly and in detail, the purpose 
of this exercise has been attained, and the class should be 
led on to the next exercise. 



APPENDIX * 

Foreword. — The whole object of the exercises just ex- 
plained is to give pupils the power to imagine fully and to 
express fully persons, objects, scenes, and incidents about 
them. Those exercises are wholly taken up with what the 
pupils actually meet in life. 

The exercises of this appendix are very like those just 
seen. They aim at giving pupils the ability to imagine, 
describe, and tell not what they have actually come across 
in life, but what they have only seen in pictures, read in 
books, or heard spoken of. This is really only a variant of 
the first four exercises of this chapter, and consequently 
much of what is given in those exercises will be repeated 
here. Theoretically it might seem useless to introduce 
these exercises; practically, however, it has been found 
that many students, who can go through the work pre- 
scribed in the preceding group of exercises, cannot imagine 
and portray the strange and unfamiliar, though they have 
met the strange and unfamiliar in books, or pictures, or 
conversation. Such pupils are not able to express in their 
own words anything that they have not come across in the 
life around them. The aim of the exercises of this appendix 

* Though called an appendix, this part of Chapter I is not to be 
omitted by any teacher who intends to give to his class any of the fol- 
lowing chapters. The only reason for calling these two exercises an 
appendix is the one stated in the foreword to them. They are not 
exercises which require a different mental process from that required 
in the four exercises just explained, but they require that exercise 
to be gone through under new conditions, which make the process 
specially difficult, and demand, therefore, special attention. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 411 

is to remove this inability, and to give pupils the power not 
merely to imagine, but also to express the strange and un- 
familiar. Without this ability the exercises of the next 
two chapters will be unduly difficult. 

These exercises should be continued until the pupils show 
that, when they have seen the strange and unfamiliar in a 
picture, or read it in a book, or heard it in conversation, 
they can imagine and express it in a composition. 

Wherever it is possible, instead of repeating long instruc- 
tions already given, we will simply refer back to previous 
exercises. 

Exercise I 

Note. — The purpose of this first exercise is principally to 
give the pupils the power to imagine in detail strange and 
unfamiliar things. 

1) Read to the class, or tell them, or show them a pic- 
ture* of some object, person, scene, or incident unfamiliar to 
them. This unfamiliar subject may be something from 
some foreign land, or something from here at home, but it 
must be something unknown to the pupils. 

N. B. — If the teacher reads to the class a passage from an 
author, or tells them of some incident or person or scene, he 
must be careful that they understand his reading or his 
narrative. To this end he must be sure that they know the 
meaning of every word used. That they may thus com- 
prehend the significance of each word and expression, it 
will be very necessary for the teacher to have them find in 
their dictionaries, or to tell them the meaning of any words 

* Pictures useful for this exercise will be found in almost every illus- 
trated edition of the poets and novelists. Besides there are firms 
to-day publishing reprints of famous pictures at a very small figure. 
The Perry prints are well known, and will be found very useful. 



412 TEACHERS* HANDBOOK 

and expressions, in the reading or narrative, which he fore- 
sees will be above their grasp. If he shows them a picture, 
let him be sure to explain to the class the names of the 
different strange objects shown in the picture. 

2) Tell the class to fix clearly in their imagination every- 
thing that they have heard or seen. Remind them that 
the commonplaces already explained in previous exercises 
will help them in forming this picture in their imagination. 

3) Give the class some time to fix this picture in their 
minds. 

N. B. — It is understood that, if it be a picture which has 
been shown them, and which they are trying to fix in 
imaginations, it is to be removed from sight as soon as they 
get as far as step 3). 

4) The next steps will be the same as those explained in 
2), 3), 4), 5), 6), of Exercise I, Chapter I, and in 2), 3), 4), 
5), of Exercise II, Chapter I. 

N. B. — a) If the teacher has read to the class a passage 
from some author he will introduce after 5), Exercise II, 
Chapter I, 6) of the same exercise. If the study is of a pic- 
ture, let him confine himself to a study of the words neces- 
sary to express the details shown in the picture. 

b) The teacher himself will gradually drop out of the 
work, and then change it from a concert to an individual 
exercise, as explained in 7) and 8) of Exercise I, Chapter I. 

c) The teacher will find that the class shows considerably 
less facility in this work with strange and unfamiliar sub- 
jects than they did in the exercises where they were more at 
home with the matter in hand. He must keep them at 
these exercises till this slowness in handling these strange 
subjects is overcome- 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 413 



Exercise II 



Note, — This is an exercise in the expression of a strange 
and unfamiliar subject. 

1) Read the class a passage, or show them a picture deal- 
ing with something strange and unfamiliar. 

2) Go through a concert study of this passage or picture 
as explained in 1), 2), 3), 4), of the previous exercise. 

3) Have the pupils set about the expression of the details 
as explained in 2), 3), 4), 5), 6), of Exercise III, Chapter I. 
If the subject for study and reproduction is taken from a 
passage in some author, carry out 7), of Exercise III, Chap- 
ter I. If the class is trying to express what they see in a 
picture, and if the picture be the illustration of some poem 
or story, or an artist's concept of some object, scene, person, 
or incident of a story or poem, the teacher should read to 
the class the original which is illustrated in the picture, or 
which inspired the picture. 

4) For the further progress of this exercise the teacher 
should proceed as is explained in 8), 9), of Exercise III, 
Chapter I. 

N. B. — a) When the pupils come to that stage where they 
are capable of doing this work each for himself, the teacher 
will find that they can do at home everything except the 
one step indicated in 9), of Exercise III, Chapter I. Since 
that step can be omitted when they are working from a 
picture and not from a passage taken from an author, they 
can in such cases do all the work at home, it being necessary 
in the classroom only to show them a picture, and to give 
them time enough to take in its details, and to see that they 
know the names of all these details. 

b) Though we have not written out in full every detail to 
be gone through in these exercises of this appendix, but 



414 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

have merely referred back to the previous exercises where 
the same thing had to be done, let us insist that the teacher 
must be as careful to go through every step in these two ex- 
ercises as he did in the first four exercises. 



Selections 

(Selections, that will be of use in the exercises of this 
appendix, may be found in almost every novelist and poet, 
particularly in the English poets and novelists whose themes 
and characters are usually chosen from among places and 
persons strange to the American boy. For the convenience 
of the teacher we will mention a few books, and some pas- 
sages in books which are of the character desired.) 

Irving, Alhambra, passim. 

Stoddard, South Sea Idylls, passim. 

Longfellow, Outre-Mer (esp. " Journey into Spain/' and 
" Valley of the Loire — Castle of Chambord"). 

Hawthorne, Our Old Home, passim. 

Stevenson, An Inland Voyage, passim. 

Smith, Gondola Days (cf. esp. "A Gondola Race"). 

Green, Short History of the English People (Chap. II, sect. 
9, " Chateau Gaillard"). 

Green, Short History of English People (Chap. VI, sect. 4, 

"More"). 

Tennyson, Idylls, passim. 

Scott, Ivanhoe (Chap. Ill, "Dining Hall," and Chap. VII, 
"The Lists at Ashby," cf. selections 168, 169). 

Scott, Kenilworth (Chap. XXV, "The Castle"). 

Scott, Lady of the Lake (Canto I, lj 14, "Loch Katrine"). 

Scott, Pirate (Chap. I, "Jarlshof"). 

Eliot, Mill on the Floss (Chap. I, "The Valley of the 
Floss"). 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 415 

Ruskin, Modern Painters (Pt. II, Sect. 5, Chap. II, No. 3, 
"Falls of Schaffhausen"). 

Dickens, Old Curiosity Shop (Chap. LXVII [ad finem], 
" Drowning Man"). 

Dickens, Pickwick Papers (Chap. XXIX, "The Goblin"). 

Dickens, Barnaby Rudge (Chap. LXIV, "Attack on New- 
gate"). 

Stevenson, Virginibus Puerisque. ("Some Portraits by 
Raeburn," esp. useful as a model for the description of a 
character from a picture). 

Wallace, Fair God (Bk. I, Chap. IV, "Night"). 

Newman, Callista (Chap. XV, "The Plague"). 

Virgil, Aeneid (Bk. I, "The Storm," and Bk. II, "Lao- 
coon's Sacrifice and Death"). 

Homer, Iliad (Bk. VI, "Meeting of Hector and Andro- 
mache," and Bk. XVIII, "Arms of Achilles" — too long for 
a single study, divide — and Bk. XXIV, "Funeral Rites of 
Hector"). 



CHAPTER II 

Foreword. — It is the aim of this chapter to teach pupils 
how to construct out of materials already in their possession 
pictures and narratives altogether new and original. The 
figurative, the fanciful, the metaphorical, and the allegorical 
may show themselves in these descriptions and narrations, 
but it is not the purpose of these present exercises to culti- 
vate these features. They are properly the work of the 
exercises to be proposed in the next chapter. What is 
proposed here is the imaginative as distinguished from the 
fanciful. Selections, therefore, which are highly fanciful 
or allegorical should be avoided in this chapter. 



Exercise I 

1) Pick out a description of some scene, or the narrative 
of some event, which has not fallen under the experience 
of the pupils in its entirety, as described or narrated, but 
whose elements they have met with here or there. (Selec- 
tions 111, "The Witchery of Old-Time Houses," page 206; 
118, "The Devil and the Rooster," page 217; 136, 
"' Freckles' McGraw," page 246; 132, "Fearsome Sights in 
a Storm," page 238; 149, "Roland's Horn," K d, page 272, 
are of the character required.) 

2) Read the selection to the class, telling them to try to 
impress it vividly on their imagination. 

3) Ask them if any such scene or incident has ever come 
within their experience. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 417 

4) If the selection has been chosen as explained above, 
the answer will surely be that they have not met with just 
that scene or incident, but that they have seen or heard of 
something like it. As soon as they come to this conclusion, 
set them at work writing out on the board the details of the 
selection just as they did in the exercises of Chapter I, one 
writing and the others suggesting details until the subject 
is exhausted. 

5) As soon as the class has finished this list of details — 
which pupils drilled in the exercises of Chapter I will 
enumerate practically in their entirety — proceed to insist 
on the fact that all of the separate details which they have 
just catalogued from the selection are known to them, 
while the scene or incident of the selection taken as a 
whole is altogether unknown to them. 

6) Lay stress on the fact that as the scene as a whole 
was, possibly, as completely unknown to the writer as to 
the class, the writer in order to express it in words — to 
copy it down on paper — was compelled to set it down be- 
fore him somewhere and somehow; that he had no other 
way of doing this except by fixing it clearly in his imagina- 
tion; that if they desire thus to portray scenes or incidents 
which have never come under their actual observation, they, 
too, will have to first impress all such scenes and incidents 
clearly on their imagination. 

7) Go on next to show the class more in detail the method 
the author has used in constructing his description or nar- 
rative. Use for this purpose either the selection already 
read and analyzed, or, if the class be tired of that selection, 
read them another of the same character, have them ana- 
lyze it, and then proceed as follows: 

a) Make the class arrange the details in an orderly 
fashion, using brackets as explained in Chapter I. 

b) With the help of these brackets point out the salient 



418 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

points about which the author has built up his picture or 
narrative. 

c) Explain the development of these salient points by 
the use of the commonplaces suggested in Chapter I. Call 
on the class for some further development of these points 
by the use of the same commonplaces. Write down these 
details added by the class to those of the author. 

d) Show the reason why the author has omitted to in- 
troduce details which have occurred to members of the 
class. The important reason will always be the necessity 
of preserving consistency between the various elements of 
the description or narration. Lay all the stress possible 
on the necessity of this consistency. 

e) Show how the author has connected one point with 
the other. Indicate whether this connection is quite obvi- 
ous, or whether the author has not been forced to display 
considerable ingenuity in order to link one point with the 
other. The clearer the action of the author's mind in mak- 
ing this connection becomes to the pupils, the easier it will 
be for them to carry out the exercises that follow. 

f) Something may be said briefly and simply about 
the proportion observed in the treatment of the various 
points. 

*g) In a description indicate the dominant note, and 
how it is preserved; in a narrative point out the subordina- 
tion of all the details to the purpose of the story, and the 
omission of every detail that would detract from the attain- 
ment of that purpose. 

h) Do not omit such study of the sentence and paragraph 
structure, and of the vocabulary as the grade of the class 

*This point should be touched but lightly. It is useful, but not of 
as great importance here as the others. The chief purpose of this 
exercise, it must be remembered, is to impress on the class the possi- 
bility of creating something new out of old material. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 419 

will permit. It is impossible to call the attention of young 
pupils too often to the variety of sentence-structure, and to 
the wealth of vocabulary required in a good writer. 

8) Keep the class at the work indicated in this exercise 
until they fully realize the possibility of constructing for 
themselves out of materials in their possession descriptions 
and narratives of scenes and events wholly strange to them- 
selves, and even until they begin to feel that they would 
like to make the attempt. When they have gotten to this 
last stage, begin the next exercise. 



Exercise II 

Note. — The object of this exercise is to teach pupils how 
to construct a scene or incident, which will be altogether 
new, out of materials which are old. The principal points 
of the composition will be given to them, but the com- 
bination of these points will be left to their own ingenuity. 
No subject will be assigned. When they have combined 
the points suggested, and written the composition, they 
may find a name for it. 

1) Dictate to the class, or write on the blackboard, four 
or five, or fewer principal points of a description or narra- 
tion. These points are to be such as have singly fallen 
under the observation of the pupils, but not such as have 
ever been seen or heard of by the pupils in combination. 
(Examples of narratives that may be used for this purpose 
will be found among the selections in the first part of this 
book. Examples of descriptions may also be found among 
those selections. A further list of descriptions which, it is 
hoped, will be found useful for this and other exercises of 
this chapter will be found at the end of the chapter.) 

2) Take up one point after another, and have the pupils 



420 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

tell all they know about each one, writing down under the 
points all the details suggested. 

3) Ask the class if any detail of the first point seems 
capable of connection with a detail of point two. If some 
such connection seems possible, see if the connection thus 
suggested leaves a connection between the first two points 
and the third point possible. If such a connection can be de- 
vised, try to find a connection between the three first points 
and the fourth point, and so on. If at any place it is found 
that the connection or connections between the first points 
is such as to make a connection with the other points im- 
possible, go back to the earlier connections, and make such 
partial or complete changes in them as will render a con- 
nection with the later points possible. 

4) When the plan of the composition has been thus far 
determined, take the class back to the lists of details which 
they have written out under each point, and have them 
eliminate from those lists any and all details which would be 
inconsistent with the plan chosen. A great deal of care 
should be taken to have this part of the work done well. 
Do not be contented with having them avoid the grosser 
inconsistencies. Try to bring home to them the need of 
keeping in mind always the time, the view-point, the tone, 
the purpose, etc., of a description or narrative. Younger 
students, even if they avoid the more serious mistakes, are 
prone to err in these finer points, and though it would be 
too much to expect of them perfection in these more diffi- 
cult matters, it is never too early to begin the correction 
of even venial sins of composition. 

5) The plan and material will by this time have been de- 
termined. The teacher will now have the class arrange 
the details in groups and sub-groups, or will probably find it 
better to use the reverse order, and to arrange the details first 
in sub-groups, and afterwards to coordinate these in groups. 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 421 

The object of this will be to build up sentences of the com- 
position out of the sub-groups of details, and paragraphs of 
the composition out of the groups. 

6) Now take up the first group, or paragraph of ideas, 
and begin converting the sub-groups into sentences. Go 
from pupil to pupil, calling on each one for the expression 
of a different sub-group in sentence form. In this first call 
for sentences, take from each pupil the sentence that he 
offers, and write it down on the blackboard. Ask for cor- 
rection only when the sentence offered contains a real mis- 
take in grammar, or some glaring mistake in rhetorical 
structure. Ask the author of the sentence to correct it 
himself, and do not go to another pupil for correction until 
the author shows himself plainly incapable of correcting 
his own product. 

7) After the first draught of the composition has been 
thus written by the class— each group of ideas appearing in 
the written composition as a separate paragraph — examine 
the composition, and ask for the perfecting of the sen- 
tences. 

a) Look over each individual sentence, improving it as 
much as can be done by the suggestions of the class. 

b) In connection with this introduce into the sentences 
all the variety of form that the composition allows and 
demands. 

c) See to the connection between the sentences and the 
paragraphs. 

8) Try to have the class use the most appropriate and 
elegant words. Insist on variety of expression. Even 
though it lead to absurdities, it may be well in the begin- 
ning to lay it down as a rule that no words, exclusive of 
pronouns and articles and the like, are to be used twice in 
the same sentence, or even in the same paragraph. 

9) When the composition has been thus written in con- 



422 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

cert, let each pupil write out a copy of it in pen and ink, and 
hand it in to the teacher. 

10) When the teacher begins this exercise, he will be 
obliged to take each step with the class. As the class learns 
the method, let the teacher gradually drop into the back- 
ground, and leave the class to work out the exercise — still 
in concert — but without his help. 

11) When every individual in the class feels in himself 
the power to do the exercise, and when the teacher feels 
that the individuals of the class can do the exercise singly 
and alone, he may give out points, and demand that the 
individual members of the class develop them into composi- 
tions, each for himself. 

N. B. — In assigning this composition to individual mem- 
bers of the class, it will be found useful, at least in the be- 
ginning, to demand from each individual not merely the 
written composition but also the following assurances of 
having followed out the method prescribed: 

a) A list of the points, and under them in a column or col- 
umns the details that might enter into their development. 

b) An indication of the connection to be made between 
the various points. 

c) A plan in skeleton by group and sub-group of the com- 
position intended. 

Exercise III 

Note. — This exercise goes one step further than the pre- 
vious one. In this the teacher assigns not only the points 
which are to be connected and worked up into a composi- 
tion, but also determines very definitely the subject of the 
composition, thus compelling the pupils to seek an ar- 
rangement of the details which will fulfill a definite purpose, 
and not leaving them to choose that arrangement which 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 423 

best suits their own sweet will. The exercise will naturally 
be very like the preceding cne, and where it is similar, we 
will for brevity's sake content ourselves with making ref- 
erences to Exercise II. 

1) Explain the subject of the composition. This does 
not mean simply naming a subject. The teacher must let 
the class understand very distinctly what they are to write 
about. This will be hard; exactly in proportion to the dull- 
ness of the class. Any teacher of experience knows that 
the average pupil of the lower grades is very slow in com- 
prehending what he is to write about. If, e. g., the subject 
assigned is "The Origin of the Roast Pig," the average 
pupil is very likely to produce a long treatise on the extent 
of the use of roast pig at the present day, or on the amount 
of bogus pig that is sold to the public, or on the dangers of 
eating too much pork, or on how they drive pigs through 
the streets or on almost anything except the subject. The 
teacher in this case will have to impress on the class that 
what he wants from them, and the only thing he wants 
from them, is a story explaining how roast pig first became 
an object of delight to the palates of men. Remember 
that the subject, whether a description or a narration, 
should be something not familiar to the pupils, and remem- 
ber that the individual points should each be familiar to 
the pupils. 

2) Assign the principal points. 

3) Have the class write down on the board the details of 
each point as in Exercise II of this chapter. Insist on their 
using the commonplaces already mentioned, and on their 
striving all the while to form vivid mental pictures of the 
point under consideration. 

4) Have them set to work next at making that connec- 
tion between the points which will make the development 
of the subject possible. There will be this difference be- 



424 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

tween the work here and that designated in 3) of Exercise 
II that there any connection, provided the pupils struck 
on one, would satisfy the demands of the composition, 
while here the connection chosen must be such as is de- 
manded by the nature of the subject. 

5) Go over the lists of details as suggested in 4) of Exer- 
cise II. 

6) Arrange in groups and sub-groups as explained in 5) 
of Exercise II. 

7) Write the sentences as explained in 6) of Exercise II. 

8) Correct the sentences as explained in 7) of Exercise II. 

9) Examine the vocabulary as explained in 8) of Exer- 
cise II. 

10) Have each pupil write down the composition as ex- 
plained in 9) of Exercise II. 

11) Let the teacher gradually drop out of the work, and 
leave it to be done wholly by the class as explained in 10) 
of Exercise II. 

12) As soon as the individuals of the class are able to do 
the exercise singly and alone, the teacher may give out sub- 
jects and points to be developed into compositions by the 
individual members of the class. In doing this it will un- 
doubtedly be found very beneficial to follow out the N. B. 
of 11), Exercise II, with this addition: Have every member 
of the class either orally or in writing explain what the 
subject of the composition is. 

N. B. — If there is an original of the composition assigned, 
i. e. some description or narration having the same subject 
and the same points, it will always be useful to read this 
original to the class after they have completed their efforts ; 
and to make some brief and simple comparison. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 425 



Exercise IV 

Note. — This exercise differs from the previous one simply 
in this — that the subject only is assigned by the teacher, 
the selection of points and all the work necessary to the 
development of the subject are to be attended to by the 
pupils themselves. Much of the work will be the same as 
that done in previous exercises, and where such is the case, 
instead of giving lengthy explanations we will simply refer 
back to the previous exercise. 

1) Assign a subject. Let this be such as has in itself not 
fallen under the experience of the class, but still let it be a 
subject capable of being developed and expressed by ele- 
ments already in the possession of the class. Be sure that 
the class understands what the subject is. 

2) Give the class a few minutes to think. Tell them to 
try at once to form some sort of picture in their imagina- 
tions of the scene or incident which they are to express. 

3) Ask them now to suggest points of composition. 
Hear out the whole class, and take note of all the points 
suggested. Be sure that every point is distinct and differ- 
ent from any other point already suggested. Young pupils 
very frequently mistake different phases of the same point 
for different points. 

4) Catalogue details as in 3) of Exercise III. 

5) Now make at least a tentative selection of the points 
which it is intended to use in the composition. Have the 
class do as much in this selection as they can, but at least 
in the earlier exercises, do not be too slow in helping them 
Impress on them that anything like a contradiction in the 
points selected must be avoided; that the points chosen 
should be such as seem to lend themselves most readily to 
the expression of the subject. 



426 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

6) Arrange the connection between the points as in 4) 
of Exercise III. 

7) Go through the work of eliminating superfluous and 
unnecessary details as in 5) of Exercise III. 

8) Arrange the groups and sub-groups as in 6) of Exer- 
cise III. 

9), 10), 11), 12), 13), 14), of this exercise are respectively 
the same as 7), 8), 9), 10), 11), 12), of Exercise III. 



Selections 

(As has been remarked above, selections in narration 
useful for the exercises of this chapter will be found in con- 
siderable abundance among the selections given in the be- 
ginning of this book. Descriptions, that will be available 
for the work here intended, may be found in almost all of 
our writers who have confined themselves to domestic 
subjects. We suggest a few descriptions which it will be 
easy for any teacher to find.) 

Farm-Yard — Irving, Sketch Book, " Legend of Sleepy 
Hollow/' K 21. 

School House — Irving, Sketch Book, " Legend of Sleepy 
Hollow," K 9. 

September Day — Hawthorne, Fragments from the Jour- 
nal of a Solitary Man, II — "My Return Home," *[( 1. 

Winter Night — Hawthorne, Alice Doane's Appeal, ^ 13. 

Misty Morning — Hawthorne, Tanglewood Tales, " Gor- 
gon's Head — Introduction." 

A Chair — Hawthorne, Grandfather's Chair (Part I, Chap. 
I, H 7). 

Storm at Sea — Irving, Sketch Book, "The Voyage," f 10. 

The Upstarts — Irving, Sketch Book, "The Country- 
Church," m 6-10. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 427 

Coachman — Irving, Sketch Book, " Stage Coach/' 1J^[ 4 
and 5. 

Inn Kitchen — Irving, Sketch Book, " Stage Coach," 

112. 

Old Apple Dealer — Hawthorne, Mosses from an Old 
Manse, "The Old Apple Dealer," U 2 or more. 

Quiet Stream — Hawthorne, Mosses from an Old Manse, 
"The Manse," HH 5 and 7. 

Old House — Hawthorne, House of the Seven Gables 
(Chap. I, 1 9). 

Warwick Castle — Hawthorne, Our Old Home, "Warwick 
Castle," K 3. 

Fire of London — Lingard, Charles II, 2nd chapter on 
reign of this king. 

Flood— McMaster, Hist, of U. S. (Vol. I, p. 211). 

Farmer— McMaster, Hist, of U.S. (Vol. I, p. 19). 

Hut — Newman, Callista (Chap. 23, TJ 1). 

Lake — Cooper, Pathfinder (Chap. 8, *[j 5). 

A Disagreeable Day — Dickens, Bleak House (Chap. 2). 



CHAPTER III 

Foreword, — There may be some difficulty in understand- 
ing the difference between the exercises of this chapter and 
those of Chapter II. It is the difficulty commonly experi- 
enced in distinguishing between the fanciful and the imag- 
inative. These terms are often used as synonymous. We 
use them here as technically distinguished; the imaginative 
being used for a composition whose elements, even as ex- 
pressed, exist separately, but not in the combination in 
which the writer has placed them; the fanciful for a picture 
or narrative whose very elements, as expressed in the com- 
position, are inventions of the writer. Chapter II is an 
exercise in the imaginative; Chapter III is an exercise in 
the fanciful. We intend, of course, that this exercise 
should be of the simplest character possible in this kind of 
composition. Anything else would not suit the class of 
pupils for whom these exercises are intended. If a teacher 
believes his pupils capable of exercises higher than those 
here suggested, he is free to give such exercises. 

It may be remarked further that there are four different 
forms of these exercises in the fanciful which have been 
tried with success in the lower classes. The four sections 
of this chapter will be taken up with an explanation of these 
four different forms of exercise . 

SECTION I 

(Personification) 

The exercises of this first section will be in personifica- 
tion. As much as possible everything done in the exer- 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 429 

cises of this section must be restricted to personification. 
The metaphorical, or the allegorical strictly so-called, will 
be the matter of exercises in Section II. However, since 
personification and allegory readily run into one another, 
it will hardly be possible to keep them entirely distinct. 
Something of the one may appear in the other. 



Exercise I 

Note. — The object of this exercise is merely to awaken 
pupils to a recognition of the existence of personification, 
to its beauties, and to the methods of authors who use it. 

1) Read to the class some passage containing a personi- 
fication, e. g., selection 124, "The Mischievous Wind," 
page 225. Tell the class to listen as attentively as possible, 
and to form as clear an image of the passage as they can. 

2) Have the class enumerate the main points of the selec- 
tion as written, just as they would enumerate the points of 
any passage, and then have them descend into the details, 
cataloguing these in column under the main points. 

3) Indicate in broad outline the personification. Then 
have class write down in lines parallel with the personified 
details their unpersonified equivalents, detail for detail. 
Bracket each group and sub-group so that the class may see 
how every group and sub-group of the plain or prosaic form 
contrasts with the corresponding group and sub-group of the 
personified form. The purpose of all this comparison is, as 
the teacher will readily understand, not merely the joy of 
analysis. It is to bring home to the class the similarity 
between the prose and the personified forms, and to insist 
on the fact that this similarity is the basis of the personifi- 
cation, that without it the personification would be impos- 
sible. At every step in this work of paralleling the prosaic 



430 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

and personified forms, the teacher must be driving home 
these last ideas, continually pointing out the similarity be- 
tween the prose and the figurative forms. 

N. B. — It is here, too, that the teacher should insist that 
in any passage where simple personification occurs, the 
subject of the personification does not become the person, 
but simply assumes certain qualities of that person. This 
the teacher should do in-order to more thoroughly differen- 
tiate this exercise from those on allegory that will come 
later. 

4) Now make the class realize that much of what is said 
in the passage selected for examination is already known to 
them;— that in its plain form it is, possibly, a scene or inci- 
dent known to all of them; — that in its figurative form they 
all easily recognize the appropriateness of the personifica- 
tion, and may, perhaps, at some time or other have pic- 
tured for themselves the plain idea in the figurative form. 

5) Take occasion now to recall the necessity of using the 
imagination in order to express the passage. The author 
certainly had never seen the idea expressed in its figurative 
form, perhaps not even in its plain form. He had at least 
to construct the figurative form in his imagination, perhaps 
both the plain and figurative forms, before he could set the 
idea down on paper. Anyone that desires to do likewise 
will have to imitate the author's methods. 

6) Explain that in constructing this description or nar- 
rative the only help the author had was his power of obser- 
vation as explained in Chapter I. 

7) Continue the examination of the passage according to 
the method indicated in d), e), f), g), h), of 7), Exercise I, 
Chapter II. Do not omit to point out the life, vigor, beauty 
given by personification. 

8) Keep the class examining passages illustrative of 
personification until they realize thoroughly how an author 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 431 

goes about this kind of composition, and even until they 
feel that they would like to make an attempt at something 
of this kind themselves. As soon as they display this de- 
sire, go on to the next exercise. 



Exercise II 

Note. — This is an exercise in personification. As in the 
exercises of Chapter II, the teacher will first help the class 
to write a composition; then he will gradually leave the 
class to write a composition without his help, but still in 
concert; finally he will have the individuals of the class 
write a composition as an individual exercise. In this exer- 
cise the plain points and the explanation of the personifica- 
tion desired will be given. The development of the points 
into the expression of any fixed subject will not be insisted 
on, but the combination of the points, and, hence, the de- 
termination of the subject, will be left to the class. 

1) Give plain points, and suggest personification. It is 
evident these points must be such as the pupils know some- 
thing about. They must be acquainted, too, with the per- 
son whose characteristics are to appear in the composition. 

2) Let the class have a few minutes for thought and 
imagination. 

3) Have them write down on the blackboard all the de- 
tails that they know about the points given. Next have 
them write down under headings or points suggested by 
themselves all the details that they can call to mind of the 
person whose characteristics are to be called into requisition 
for the expression of the composition. 

4) Work up the plan of the description or narration as 
suggested in 3), 4), 5), of Exercise II, Chapter II. 

5) Go back now to the various details of the person or 



432 TEACHERS 7 HANDBOOK 

persons that have been written out on the board, and con- 
vert every plain detail, every plain sub-group, and every 
plain group, that you have written, into its corresponding 
personified form. In doing this be careful to insure fidelity 
to nature, and where the expression of any prose detail se- 
lected would violate this fidelity, either eliminate the detail 
or change it so as to insure conformity to nature. 

6) The remaining steps in this exercise will be the same 
as those explained in Exercise II, Chapter II, under 6), 7), 
8), 9), 10), 11). 

Exercise III 

Note. — In this exercise the points and an explanation of 
the personification desired will be given. Besides this the 
subject, also, will be given. This will limit the imaginations 
of the pupils, and will prevent their wandering as freely as 
in the previous exercise. 

1) Assign the subject, and be sure that the pupils under- 
stand what the subject is. 

2) Assign the points, and explain the personification to 
be used. In doing this be sure that the prose points as 
well as the personal characteristics in which the prose 
points are to be expressed have all come within the range 
of observation of the pupils. 

3) Now have the class write down in column all the de- 
tails which they can enumerate both of the plain points and 
of the person or persons whose characteristics are to be in- 
troduced into the composition. (Cf. Chapter II, Exercise 
111,3.) 

4) Go through the plain points, constructing a plan as 
suggested in 4), 5), 6), of Exercise III, Chapter II. 

5) Convert the plain into the figurative senee as in 5), 
Exercise II, of this chapter. 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 433 

6) The remaining steps of this exercise are the same as 
those indicated in Chapter II, Exercise III, 7), 8), 9), 10), 
11), 12). 

Exercise IV 

Note. — In this exercise the subject will be given, and the 
personification desired will be indicated. Making due al- 
lowance for the fact that the plain points are not given, the 
exercise is the same as the preceding. 

1) Assign the subject, and indicate the personification 
to be used. In assigning the subject, be sure to explain 
exactly what it is, and be sure, too, to choose a subject 
capable of treatment by the class. 

2) Give the class a few minutes to think. Tell them to 
try to get their imaginations working immediately, both on 
the plain points and on the personification. 

3) Ask the class for plain points necessary for the expres- 
sion of the subject. Be sure that the points suggested are 
really different one from another, and not merely different 
aspects of the same point. 

4) Write down under these points in column all the de- 
tails that the class can suggest, and in separate columns 
write down all the details that the class can suggest of the 
person whose characteristics are to enter into the personifi- 
cation. 

5) Make a selection of the plain points as suggested in 5), 
Exercise IV, Chapter II. 

6) Eliminate from the lists of details all details that are 
inconsistent with the plan chosen, as well as all others that 
w r ould in any way detract from the worth of the composition. 

7) Arrange the details in groups and in sub-groups. 

8) Translate the plain into the figurative as indicated in 
5), Exercise II, Section I, Chapter III. 



434 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

9) The remaining steps of this exercise are the same as 
those indicated in Chapter II, Exercise III, under 7), 8), 
9), 10), 11), 12). 

Exercise V 

Note. — This exercise goes a step farther than the preced- 
ing. A subject is assigned, and the class is told to write the 
composition in the form of a personification. 

1) Assign the subject. Make sure that it is something 
within the capabilities of the class, and make sure that the 
class fully grasp what the subject is. 

2) Give the class some time to think out some plain 
points and to get some idea of how they will carry out the 
personification. Tell them to try to get their imagination 
workings, and to help themselves in this by using all the 
commonplaces suggested in earlier exercises. 

3) Have the class suggest plain points, catalogue details, 
and make a selection, etc., as is suggested in Chapter II, 
Exercise IV, under 3), 4), 5), 6), 7), 8). 

4) Now turn to the personification, and ask the class to 
make their suggestions. Demand points of personification, 
and under the points arrange details. When every pupil 
has expressed his ideas, let the class select one out of the 
various plans for personifications suggested, and have 
them arrange it in points and details, groups and sub- 
groups. 

5) Convert the plain into the figurative, group by group, 
sub-group by sub-group. 

6) The remaining steps in this exercise are the same as 
those indicated in Chapter II. Exercise III, under 7), 8), 9), 
10), 11), 12). 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 435 



Selections 

The following selections and books are suggested to the 
teacher as suitable for use in this first section of Chapter 
III: 

Longfellow, Mad River. 

Irving, Sketch Book, "The Mutability of Literature " 
(conversation of the quarto towards the end of the sketch) . 

Tennyson, The Brook. 

Hawthorne, Grandfathers Chair (Pt. Ill, Chap. XI, 
"Grandfather's Dream "). 

Hawthorne, Twice Told Tales — "A Rill from the Town 
Pump." 

Hawthorne, Tanglewood Tales — "Shadow Brook" (Prel- 
ude to the "Golden Touch" — description of the brook). 

Hawthorne, Snow Image and Other Twice Told Tales — "A 
BelPs Biography." 

Andersen, The Teapot. 

Andersen, The Lovers. 

Virgil, Aeneid (Bk. 1, 1. 52 sqq., "The Winds"). 

Kipling, Day's Work and Jungle Books, passim. 

Thompson, Wild Animals I Have Known, passim. 

Selection 88, "An Autobiography," page 164. 

St. Nicholas Magazine, Vol. I, page 719, "Autobiog- 
raphy of an Omnibus " ; Vol. II, page 6, " The Wedding 
of the Gold Pen and the Inkstand " ; Vol. VII, page 192, 
"The Proud Little Grain of Wheat" ; Vol. 16, page 736, 
"The Rain-Harp." 



436 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

SECTION II 

(Allegory) 

The exercises of this section will be in metaphor and alle- 
gory. Naturally they will be quite similar to those of the 
previous section, and consequently, wherever possible, in- 
stead of repeating long instructions, we will simply refer 
back to the previous section. 

Exercise I 

Note. — The object of this first exercise is merely to call 
the attention of pupils to the existence of allegory, to its 
beauty, and to the methods of authors who use it. 

1) Read to the class some simple allegory, e. g. Long- 
fellow's "Reaper and the Flowers. " Tell the class to listen 
as closely as possible, and to form as clear a picture, as they 
can, in their imagination. 

2) Cf. 2) of Exercise I, Section I (this chapter). 

3) This step is exactly the same as 3), Exercise I, Section I 
(this chapter), except that the teacher has now to do with an 
allegory, and that there he had to do with a personification. 
Consequently where there he had to insist on the fact that 
the subject of the personification did not become the person, 
but simply assumed the qualities of the person, here he will 
have to insist on the contrary; — that the thing represented 
actually assumes another being, the sun becomes a king, 
the brave man becomes a lion, etc. 

4) The remaining steps in this exercise are the same as 
those indicated in 4), 5), 6), 7), 8), of Exercise I, Section I 
(this chapter), excepting that where there we spoke of per- 
sonification, here we are speaking of allegory. Here, too, 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 437 

even more than there, the teacher should insist on the life, 
vigor, beauty given to the composition by the introduction 
of the figurative into it. 

Exercise II 

Note. — *This is an exercise in allegory or metaphor. It 
corresponds to Exercise II, Section I, of this chapter. 
Plain points, the prosaic facts and details which are to be 
expressed in allegorical form, as well as an explanation of the 
allegory to be used will be given. No fixed subject, how- 
ever, will be assigned. The combination of the facts will 
be left to the ingenuity of the class, as in previous, corre- 
sponding exercises. The pupils' combination will deter- 
mine the subject. 

The whole exercise will be worked out according to the 
suggestions laid down for the similar exercise in personifica- 
tion in Exercise II, Section I (this chapter), except that, 
where provision is made there for personification, here 
provision must be made for allegory. Here, even more than 
there, be careful to have the class picture in imagination 
very vividly the allegorical figures under which they intend 
to express their prose facts: — e. g., the reaper, the flowers, 
the fields, etc., if they wish to express the ideas of Long- 
fellow's poem (" Reaper and the Flowers") under these alle- 
gorical forms. 

Exercise III 

Note. — This exercise corresponds to Exercise III, Section 
I (this chapter). The subject, the prose points, and an 

* Some teachers may find it advisable to prelude this exercise by one 
in which the class simply translates sentences from a plain, or prosaic 
form into a metaphorical form. 



438 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

explanation of the allegorical form to be used will be given. 
The whole exercise will be worked out according to the 
suggestions given for Exercise III, Section I (this chapter), 
making due allowance for the fact that that exercise is in 
personification, this is in allegory. 

Exercise IV 

Note. — This exercise corresponds to Exercise IV, Section 
I (this chapter). The prose points are not given, but the 
subject is given, and the allegory desired is indicated. 

The steps in this exercise are the same as those suggested 
in Exercise IV, Section I (this chapter), making due allow- 
ances for the difference between personification and allegory. 

Exercise V 

Note. — This exercise corresponds to Exercise V, Section 
I (this chapter). The class is given the subject of the com- 
position and nothing more. 

The steps for this exercise are practically the same as 
those for Exercise V, Section I (this chapter). The one 
notable difference will be in 4). The teacher will probably 
find much more divergence of opinion as to the figurative 
form to be adapted. When any one form, however, has 
been settled on, let him proceed as in the exercise men- 
tioned, making due allowance, where needed, for the differ- 
ence of work. 

Selections 

The following selections and works will be of use to the 
teacher in the exercises of this section: 

Longfellow, "The Windmill," "Midnight Mass for the 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 439 

Dying Year," " My Cathedral," " Building of the Ship " (last 
lines), "Rainy Day," "Excelsior." 

Irving, Sketch Book, "Art of Book-Making" ("The 
Dream"). 

Drake, Culprit Fay, passim. 

Drake, American Flag (esp. first stanza). 

Wordsworth, Lucy (second stanza). 

Hawthorne, Little Daffydowndilly. 

Bryant, Catter skill Falls (first three stanzas). 

Holmes, Chambered Nautilus. 

Lowell, Vision of Sir Launfal (whole poem may be of use. 
If too difficult as a whole, at least the prelude to Part II, 
"The Brook in Winter," will be of use). 

Moore, Dear Harp of My Country. 

Scott, Lady of the Lake (Prologue and Epilogue). 

Dickens, Household Words, "The Water Drops." 

Addison, Vision of Mir za, selection 176, page 327. 

Dryden, Hind and Panther (esp. opening lines). 

Parables of Scripture. 

Ruskin, King of the Golden River (esp. description of 
"Southwest Wind, Esquire"). 

Thaxter, Jack Frost. 

Psalm 79, vv. 8-16. 

Horace, Odes (Bk. I, 14). 

Procter, Life and Death. 

SECTION III 

(Fanciful Stories) 

Our exercise on fanciful stories will be limited to one form 
of such composition. That form is the explanation by way 
of a fanciful narrative of some every-day fact or incident. 
Such narratives and tales are frequently found in the folk- 



440 TEACHERS 9 HANDBOOK 

lore of almost every people. The Christian legend which 
explains why the robin's breast is red is a story of this 
character. Many of the stories in the mythology of the 
Greeks and Romans are of the same character. The com- 
position of such stories is frequently extremely difficult, 
and, still, it is a species of writing in which young pupils 
often show wonderful facility. We would advise any 
teacher who attempts it to be very considerate; — to be very 
ready to give help, and to be very lenient in his require- 
ments, at least if he assigns any such work to be done not 
by the class in concert, but by members of the class individ- 
ually. 

Exercise I 

Note. — The idea of this first exercise is to give the class 
some idea of this kind of a story, and of how an author 
would go about the composition of it. The teacher will 
probably have to delay much longer on this exercise than 
on any corresponding preliminary exercise. The reason of 
this is the difficulty of this kind of composition. Pupils 
are slow to catch the idea of it, and slow to understand the 
way of it. 

1) Read to the class some tale of this kind, e. g., selection 
58, " Why the Bear Has No Tail," page 107. Tell the class 
to form a vivid picture in imagination of the whole story. 

2) Impress on them deeply what the author of this tale 
is trying to explain: the bear's want of a tail. The author 
had to tell a story which would explain that fact. He had 
to turn all the fruits of his observation, of his reading, etc., 
to- that purpose. 

3) How did he go about his work? He began by thinking 
of all the possible ways by which a bear might lose his tail. 
After making a catalogue of these possibilities, he decided 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 441 

to make the bear lose his tail by having it frozen off. This 
is the first great step forward in the composition. This 
much once determined, the author had to fix how the freez- 
ing took place. The best way to have anything break off 
from freezing is to have it wet first. This was the second 
step. The author might have chosen other ways for break- 
ing off the tail — he probably had a catalogue of other ways 
— but this was the one he chose. This was the second im- 
portant step in composition. The rest of the story was 
built up after the same fashion. 

4) Call the attention of the class again to the fact that 
the author used knowledge gained by experience to create 
the first, second, and all the points which he introduced 
into his story. Show that in trying to find out how the 
bear's tail could have come off, he really rehearsed all the 
ways possible for anything to come off. He went back to 
other things, and considered them. There was a compari- 
son in this with other like things. The teacher will insist 
that in stories of this kind the author generally goes back 
to consider something to which his subject is in some way 
similar, and from the consideration of this second object, he 
generally starts his story. In Selection 145, " Golden Hair," 
page 265, the whole story is due to the similarity in color be- 
tween the hair and the metal. The first step, therefore, in 
working up a story of this kind will always be to find out 
something that resembles the subject whose story is to be 
written, or whose existence is to be explained. As soon as 
such an object is determined, its details are written down 
— especially all details bearing on its production — and then 
the story is possible. 

5) As soon as the teacher has driven home these first four 
points from a consideration of some model, the model may 
be further studied in accordance with the suggestions made 
in Chapter II, Exercise I, 7), d), e), f), g), h). 



442 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

6) Keep the class at the study of models of this kind of 
composition until they begin to feel a desire to make an 
effort in this line themselves. As soon as they display this 
desire, go on to the following exercise. 



Exercise II 

Note. — In this exercise the subject will be assigned, and 
the story to be used will be hinted at. The chief work of 
the pupils will be to fill in the picture, whose principal jiea 
is given to them. 

1) Assign the subject, and here, as everywhere eke in 
assigning a subject, be sure that the class understand what 
they are to write about. 

2) Indicate the principal object, or incident in the story, 
e. g., in Selection 145 — " Golden Hair," page 265, hint 
that the story of blonde hair may be told by likening it 
to gold. 

3) Now have the class, working in concert as in corre- 
sponding exercises of other sections and chapters, set down 
in the form of principal points and minor details all that 
they know about the subject whose story they are to write. 
Let them in another place on the blackboard set down all 
that they know about the object or incident which is to be 
the vehicle of their story. Urge this part of the work gen- 
erously, because the better the pupils are acquainted with 
their subject, and with their vehicle, the easier will the com- 
position become for them. 

4) Now let them examine both lists of details, and come 
to some conclusion as to how they will use their vehicle. 
As soon as they have determined how they will use their 
vehicle, let them pick out those details from both their lists 
which will suffice for their story, i. e., let them determine 






FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 443 

what of all that they might say about the subject they will 
say, and secondly just what details of their vehicle will be 
necessary in order to express what they have to say about 
their subject. This selection of ideas will have to be done 
by comparing one set of details with the other. Great care 
must be taken that consistency be preserved. 

5) Arrange the selected details in groups and sub-groups 
ready for expression in sentences and paragraphs. 

6) The remaining steps in this exercise will be the same 
as those explained in Chapter II, Exercise III, 7), 8), 9), 
10), 11), 12). 

Exercise III 

Note. — In this exercise only the subject will be given. 
The class will be left entirely to its own inventions in the 
construction of the story. 

1) Assign the subject, and be sure that the class under- 
stands what it is. 

2) Have the class write down on the blackboard all that 
they know about the subject. 

3) Write down a separate list of all the objects with 
which the subject can be related by any similarity. Make 
this list as long as possible, and set down the similarity — in 
what it consists, and all its bearings on the subject — as 
clearly as possible. 

4) Determine now what one of the objects, to which the 
subject has a likeness or connection, will be used for the 
story. 

5) Set this chosen object before the class for examina- 
tion. Have the class examine it in fullest detail. The pur- 
pose of this extended examination is to get at those features 
of this object which will lend themselves to the production 
of the story. 



444 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

6) The remaining steps of this exercise will be the same 
as 4), 5), 6), of the previous exercise. 



Selections 

The following works and selections will be found of use in 
the exercises of this section: 

Pater, Marius, the Epicurean (Bk. II, C. XIII, ad 
finem, "The Story of Sleep"). 

Ovid, Metamorphoses, passim. 

Joel Chandler Harris, Uncle Remus 1 Stories, passim. 
Selection 5, "The Story of the Spider," page 8. 
143, "The Story of Spring," page 261. 

145, "Golden Hair," page 265. 

146, "The Story of the Volcano," page 266. 
58, "Why the Bear Has No Tail," page 107. 
26, "Why the Sea is Salt," page 46. 

" 2, "Midas" (Why the River Sands are Golden), 

page 3. 
" 3, "Proserpine" (The Seasons and the Fruits), 

page 4. 
" 57, "The Legend of Horseshoe Falls," page 106. 

" 96, "The Sunken City." page 182. 



SECTION IV 

(Fable) 

A form of the fanciful in which young students may be 
exercised with profit is the fable. Like the exercises of the 
preceding section, however, those on the fable are likely to 
prove very difficult. The teacher should be ready with help, 
and, when students attempt this kind of composition not in 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 445 

concert, but individually, he should not expect too much. 
It will only be after a great deal of exercise that the class as 
a body will do well in this species of work — at least this is 
the general experience. The teacher must have patience, 
and be content to wait long for excellent results. 



Exercise I 

Note. — It is the object of this first exercise to explain the 
nature of a fable, and to indicate how an author goes about 
the composition of one. 

1) Read a fable to the class, and tell them to form a 
vivid picture of the whole story. 

2) Ask them if there is any lesson contained in the fable. 
Get them to understand the moral of the tale well, and to 
express it as briefly and epigrammatically as possible. 

3) Ask the class now to write down on the board all the 
details of the fable as read to them. Insist that these de- 
tails did not exist in reality previous to the author's expres- 
sion of them; that in order to produce his picture of them 
the author had to imagine them. Show the class what com- 
monplaces he used in gathering his thought — how he called 
upon all that he had seen, all that he had heard, etc., of the 
animal actors in the fable. Show that his picture is con- 
sistent with the accepted character of the actors intro- 
duced. 

4) Call the attention of the class to the fact that the ac- 
tors in the fable — as written — really stand for other charac- 
ters — that what the author had in his mind was not merely 
the acting out of a certain lesson or principle by the animals 
he has introduced into his fable, but that under the guise 
of these assumed characters he saw others, men and women, 
exemplifying the lesson or principle in question. As a con- 



446 TEACHERS' HANDBOOK 

sequence, when he wrote his fable, he really had two pic- 
tures in his mind: — one, the figurative or fanciful story given 
to the class; the other, a prose version of the same story. 
Ask the class to try to imagine this prose version, and to set 
down on the blackboard all the details which they think 
entered into the makeup of it. Arrange both these details 
and those of 3) in groups and sub-groups by means of brack- 
ets, as has been done in other exercises, and, then, continue 
the exercise, going through the same steps as those indicated 
in Chapter II, Exercise I, 7), d), e), f), g), h), 8). 



Exercise II 

Note. — This is a first exercise in the composition of a 
fable. The subject will be given, and besides the animals 
to be introduced into the fable will be indicated. 

1) Give a subject — a maxim, a principle, a lesson. Have 
the class understand thoroughly just what the idea is that 
they are to express in concrete form. Have them express it 
in their own words. 

2) Tell them to form a picture in imagination of men and 
women carrying out in action this principle. They will 
form different concepts. Have the details of all these 
different concepts set down on the blackboard, 

3) From the details thus set down let them make a selec- 
tion of such details as will form one consistent picture. 

4) Now let them determine what they know about the 
animals chosen to appear in the fable. Have them set 
down on the board all the details about these animals that 
they can recall. 

5) Have them see which of all these details they can in- 
troduce into their fable. This will be determined by the 
plan formed in 3). 



FUNDAMENTAL ENGLISH 447 

6) As soon as they have settled upon the animal details 
to be used, have them prepare their final plan, setting down 
their ideas in groups and sub-groups as in former exercises. 

7) The remaining steps in this exercise will be the same 
as those explained in Chapter II, Exercise III, 7), 8), 9), 10), 
11), 12). 

Exercise III 

Note. — In this exercise only the subject will be indicated 
to the class. No help will be given. 

1) The first three steps in this exercise will be the same 
as 1), 2), 3), in the previous exercise. 

2) Next have the class select the animals which are to be 
introduced into the fable. In this selection the aptness of 
certain animals to express certain ideas must be kept in 
view. 

3) The remaining steps of this exercise will be the same as 
4), 5), 6), 7), of the previous exercise. 



Selections 

There is no need of making suggestions of selections use- 
ful for the exercises of this section. iEsop, La Fontaine, 
Gay and others are present to the mind of every teacher. 






FEB 27 1909 



